"SlUMI/, 

*          • 

Author  ofYFiV  Port-Folio  of  a 


So«t!u»r-'i 


* 


University  o/  California  •  Berkeley 

The  Theodore  E.  Koundakjian 

Collection 
of  American  Humor 


I 


NEW  ORLEANS  SKETCH  BOOK. 


The  Lost  Child.— Page  75. 


THE 

NEW  'OKLEANS 
SKETCH-BOOK. 

BY    "STAHL." 


Organized  Bull  Fi-^ht  mi  .Jncksnn  Square.— Ptf£«  36. 
PHILADELPHIA: 

A.  HART,  Late  CAREY  &  HART. 


THE 


NEW  ORLEANS 


SKETCH  BOOK. 


BY 


"STAHL," 

AUTHOR  or  "THE  PORT-FOLIO  OF  A  SOUTHERN 


COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

A.  HART,  LATE  CAREY  &  HART. 

1853. 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1852,  by 

A.   HART, 

in  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court,  of  the  United  States, 
in  and  for  the"  Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


E.  B.  HEARS,  STEREOTYPER. 


T.  K.  &  P.  O.  COLLINS,  PRINTERS. 


MY  inclination  is  certainly  more  to  feel  pulses  than 
to  press  the  grey  goose-quill ;  yet,  during  the  last  six  or 
eight  months  that  I  have  been  connected  with  the  New 
Orleans  DELTA,  I  have  managed  to  throw  physic  to  the 
dogs,  and  to  live  by  the  plume  of  that  foolish  bird  alone. 
I  have,  in  this  interval,  written  a  deal  of  nonsense 
assuredly, — which,  however,  some  of  my  friends  have 
condescended  to  think  amusing  enough  to  bear  a  re-issue 
in  book-form.  For  myself,  I  do  not  know ; — but,  if  the 
PKESS  don't  snub  me, — and  if  Mr.  HART  gets  his  money 
back  again, — and  if  I  should  by  chance  hear  that  my 
old  friend  and  school-fellow,  E.  P.  GUELEY,  Esq.,  away 
off  in  Texas,  cracked  a  smile  over  even  the  poverty  of 
my  conceits, — I  shall  be  sufficiently  remunerated  and 
sufficiently  flattered. 

G.  M.  WHARTON. 

NEW  ORLEANS,  Sept.  1st,  1852. 

1*  (5) 


CONTENTS. 


THE  PHRENOLOGICAL  BARBER  ....       Page  21 
PAULINE'S  PET;  A  BIRD  STORY       ....  26 

TAKING  A  BRACE  OF  BRIGS  IN  TOW  .  .  .  .31 

THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  A  BETTER  AND   ABETTOR 

AT  MONTE          • 34 

ORGANIZED  BULL  FIGHT  ON  JACKSON  SQUARE     .  .      36 

PURSUIT    OF    KNOWLEDGE   UNDER  DIFFICULTIES;    OR, 
ROMANCE  ON  THE  SIDEWALK  ...  41 

THE  CHARITY  HOSPITAL 44 

A  HACK-NIED  STORY 51 

SCENE  AT  THE  CEMETERY 56 

THREE  AT  A  HAUL;  A  REMARKABLE  DEER  STORY    .  60 

SKELETON  OF  THE  GREEN  MONSTER  .  .  .65 

BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT  OWL     .  .  .  69 

THE  LOST  CHILD      ..!....      75 
THE  DROMIO   THOMPSONS;  OR,  JACOB   RESIGNING  HIS 

BIRTHRIGHT  TO  JOSEPH 81 

THE  NEW  ORLEANS  DUTCH  GARDENS            .  .         .            .84 
INTERVENTION  PRACTICALLY  ILLUSTRATED    .            .  88 
PEE-WI  HO-KI,  THE  TAHITIAN  CANNIBAL;  WITH  A  PRE 
FACE  AND  AN  APPENDIX 91 

THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  TOYS 98 

A  HEAD  UP 101 

THE  MICROSCOPIST       .  .  .  .  .  .104 

AN  INSTANCE  OF  THE  FORMER  SANS-CULOTTISM  OF  THE 
NEW  ORLEANS  BENCH  AND  BAR       .  .  .  .106 

STATIUS  HUMBRAR;  OR,  THE  MAN  OF  TWO  SHADOWS         110 

(7) 


Ylll  CONTENTS. 

LISETTB 114 

CAMILLE  BRUSHE,   THE  PORTRAIT  PAINTER  f[A  TALE 

OF  THE  FINE  ARTS 119 

A  TOUCHING  STORY 122 

JAQUES  PASSE,  THE  MESMERIC  PICKPOCKET    .  .          125 

PICTURE-FRAMERS'  SHOPS,  AND  THOSE  WHO;PATRONISE 

THEM .    130 

COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY  EXEMPLIFIED  .  .  .133 

THE  FRUIT  SHOPS 136 

AUGUSTUS  DORMOUSE;  OR,  THE  SUNBURNT  MAN       .          138 
BONY  PYBAS,  THE  GREAT  NEWSBOY   .  .  .  .142 

SUMMER 146 

POETRY  AND  JUVENILITY  AT  THE  LAKE     .  .  .148 

THE  COTTON  AND  SUGAR  THIEF     ....          150 

AN  EGG-CITEMENT 154 

THE  OLD  MEN  OF  NEW  ORLEANS  ....          156 

A  CUPPING  GLASS 160 

THE  CASE  SO  MUCH  TALKED  OF  YESTERDAY  .  .          162 

HAIR  PICTURES .167 

JOHNSON  w.  THOMAS,  &c 170 

REPORTERS 176 

ROCHESTER  RUSH;  OR,  THE  MAN  WITH  AN  OBJECT  .          179 
BOLIVAR  BEE,  alias  CHARLES  HENRY  SPARKS        .  .    181 

MOONEY 186 

SHIVERTON   TRIMBLE;   OR,  THE  MAN  WITH  A  TACK  IN 

HIS  BACK    . 188 

THE  EXPERIMENTS  AS  ACTUALLY  PERFORMED  .          191 

LOVE  AND  MONEY— A  VERACIOUS  HISTORY  .  .    196 

MAL  D'ESTOMAC— THE  DYSPEPTIC  200 


THE  PHRENOLOGICAL  BARBER. 

WE  stopped,  yesterday,  at  a  barber's  shop  on  Chartres 
street,  lured  by  the  plaited  serpents — white,  red  and 
blue — of  brighter  dyes  than  usual — coiled  about  the 
advertising  pole,  and  each  endeavoring  to  swallow  the 
gilded  sphere  on  its  upper  extremity. 

Within,  the  furniture  was  what  our  masculine  readers 
are  familiar  with, — high-backed,  cushioned  chairs, — mar 
ble  stands,  with  bowls  set  in  them,  having  small  perfora 
tions  in  their  bottoms,  and  brass  corks  to  plug  them  up, 
attached  to  the  ends  of  short  chains, — water-pipes  and 
conduits, — sand-boxes  scattered  over  the  floor, — tables, 
spread  with  closed,  half-opened  and  opened  razors,  soap- 
mugs,  brushes,  cologne  bottles  and  gallipots  of  perfumed 
unguents, — mirrors  here  and  there,  in  which  you  might 
witness  the  reaping  of  your  cheek's  harvest, — pictures 
of  saintly  nuns  reproaching  airily-dressed  heroines  of 
the  ballet,  pirouetting  opposite, — placards  and  theatrical 
bills  fluttering  upon  the  walls, — the  morning  papers 
lying  upon  a  sofa, — and,  in  the  window,  shelves  groaning 
under  glass-ware — in  part,  flasks  enveloped  in  tinsel, 
and  filled  with  hair-restoratives — in  part,  diminutive 
phials,  constricted  in  the  waist  like  wasps,  and  redolent 
of  inexpressible  Parisian  extraits. 

But  one  feature  struck  us  as  a  rare  adjuvant  to  the 
ordinary  fixtures  of  a  barber-shop — A  LIBRARY. 

Hanging  our  hat  on  one  hook,  our  coat  upon  another, 
and  drawing  our  neckerchief  riband-like  between  our 

(21) 


22  THE    PHRENOLOGICAL   BARBER. 

fingers,  we  cast  our  eyes  rapidly  over  the  titles  of  the 
volumes,  legible,  through  the  glass-doors  of  the  book 
case.  They  were  tomes,  treating  mainly  of  the  mind, 
however,  from  phrenological  points  of  view.  The  works 
of  Gall,  Spurzheim,  and  Combe,  alternated  with  the 
journals  and  pamphlets  of  Fowler  and  Powell.  A 
cranium,  polished,  and  smooth,  and  round,  variegated 
with  black  parallels  of  latitude  and  longitude,  officiated 
as  globe  to  the  new  intellectual  geography. 

Evidently,  we  were  looking  into  the  cabinet  of  a 
Phrenologist ;  but  who  could  he  be  ?  and  where  ?  and 
how  came  his  books  here  ? 

"  Vill  you  be  shave,  sair  ?"  inquired  the  barber  of  us, 
at  this  moment. 

Without  doubt,  at  the  same  time  he  began  inspecting 
our  phrenological  developments ! 

Surprised,  we  seated  ourself  in  his  comfortable  arm 
chair,  and,  over  the  linen  bib  and  tucker,  with  which  he 
encompassed  our  gorge,  surveyed  him  as  he  mixed  a  cup 
of  suds. 

We  will  decapitate  this  man,  and  exhibit  his  top-knot 
to  the  public.  His  was  a  bald  head,  excepting  two 
pomatumed  locks  curling  behind  either  ear.  He  had  a 
blandish,  broad,  blank  face,  with  lack-lustrous  eyes,  and 
brows  receding  from  each  other.  The  nose  was  of  the 
insignificant  pug  variety,  and  turned  itself  up,  not  so 
much  in  contempt,  as  from  necessity,  like  a  little  man 
endeavoring  to  see  in  a  crowd.  He  wore  a  mere  kid  of 
a  goatee,  that,  timidly  clinging  to  his  gullet,  and  thinly 
fledging  it,  dared  not  yet  ascend  the  rugged  acclivity 
and  bleak  boss  of  his  chin. 

The  goblet  of  soap  was  at  length  foaming,  and  we 
resigned  ourself  to  the  brush  of  the  barber. 

"Say!"  we  exclaimed,  starting  up,  and  almost  gulping 


THE    PHRENOLOGICAL   BARBER.  23 

the  brush,  like  a  sandwich.  "No  shampooning!  It 
injures  our  hair." 

His  fingers,  you  must  know,  were  groping  in  our  scalp. 

"Shampoo!  Ha!  ha!  mon  Dieu!  I  vas  feel  your 
freenologeek  organz,  sair.  Beg  pardong." 

"  Granted.  But  lather  away,  and  take  care  of  the 
bump  of  combativeness." 

For  several  minutes  the  philosophical  barber  attended 
to  us  professionally.  When  he  approached  us  with  his 
razor,  he  said — 

"Sair,  I  bleeve  strong  in  freenologie.  But  I  ave 
oreeginal  teorie.  Sooppose  you  ave  von  vera  bad  orgarn. 
Go  to  the  docteur,  and  he  trephine  you, — take  out  von 
leetle  peece,  it  get  veil,  and  you  become  good.  Yat  you 
tink,  eh?" 

"Do  you  stand  in  front  of  us — shave  us  in  front! 
Never  mind  our  seeing  the  glass, — our  reflections  are 
not  so  exceedingly  agreeable  just  at  present!" 

The  barber  had  his  thumb  upon  our  "ideality,"  as  he 
propounded  his  theory,  and  he  revolved  his  hand  around 
it,  as  though  he  really  concealed  a  gimlet,  at  least.  But, 
to  go  away  in  a  jacket  of  towel,  with  the  face  on  one 
side  unshaved,  and  an  epaulette  of  soap-suds  on  the 
shoulder — we  submitted  to  our  fate. 

"Sair,"  he  continued — we  trembling  as  he  shaved — 
"  dat  is  for  too  beeg  orgarn.  For  beeg  orgarn,  trephine. 
But,  heer,  for  exomple,  you  ave  small  fyloprogenteev- 
ness.  You  do  not  lov  your  zon." 

"  Son  !     You  son  of  a  gun  !  we  have  no  son !" 

"  Sooppose,"  said  the  barber,  gathering  us  by  the  nose, 
and  also  scraping  against  the  grain  up  our  neck,  near 
the  jugulars.  "Suppose.  Encore:  For  beeg  orgarn, 
trephine.  For  small  orgarn — razor!" 

In  truth,  we  didn't   wish  to  seem  afraid,  even   for 


24  THE    PHRENOLOGICAL    BARBER. 

safety's  sake,  if  there  was  any  danger.  Yet,  to  have  a 
man  with  a  single  idea,  and  several  sharp-cutting  in 
struments  within  reach,  manipulating  your  carotids ! 
We  would  have  been  delighted  could  we  have  slipped 
out  of  .our  body,  as  the  dryads  of  old  "slipped  their 
bark" — and  walked! 

"Yes,  sair.  Go  to  de  barbare, — go  to  me.  I  shave 
your  fyloprogenteevness — let  de  air  come  to  it ;  I  bleester 
it — I  cup  it — and  you  lov  your  zon  !  Comprehend?" 

"  You  needn't  touch  the  upper  lip ;  intend  to  keep  it 
stiff — admire  moustaches!  Some  water  to  wash  !"  we 
cried,  rising  from  the  chair,  and  hurrying  on  our  necker 
chief  and  coat,  determined  to  encourage  the  enterprising 
phrenologist  no  further. 

We  splashed  our  phiz,  and  napkined  it,  in  a  twinkling. 

"Von  instont,"  interposed  the  barber.  "Sail  not  I 
dress  your  hair  ?  It  afford  me  great  pleaseer  to  dress 
hair, — I  feel  the  organz  and  tell  your  caracktare !" 

"We  have  no  character, — or,  at  all  events,  a  danger 
ous  character,  and  you  had  best  not  meddle  with  us!" 

"  Oh,  sair,  I  no  meddl,  boot  to  amproov.  Pairmit 
me  to  shave  your  fyloprogenteevness  ?" 

"Shave!  Shave  our  head!  Madman!  your  own 
pate  is  cracked !  Shave  every  one  of  your  own  degene 
rated  bumps — they're  not  bumps,  they're  dimples! — 
blister  them — cup  them — put  them  under  a  suction  pipe, 
an  air  pump — irritate,  draw  and  puff  them  into  inflated 
tumors,  you  crazy  fool,  and  see  if  you  can  increase  your 
shallow  amount  of  sense !  You  have  the  skull  of  a 
cricket — the  brains  of  a  flea  !" 

Choked  with  rage,  we  threw  him  a  dime,  and — one 
half  of  our  collar  up,  the  other  half  down,  our  necker 
chief  streaming  like  a  queue  down  our  back,  and  our 
unbrushed  hat  set  awry — we  rushed  to  the  door. 


THE   PHRENOLOGICAL   BARBER.  25 

The  demented  barber  followed  after  us,  one  hand 
grasping  the  razor,  the  other  almost  seizing  our  tube- 
rosity  of  "esteem." 

"  Sair — sair — sair  !"  were  his  last  words.  «  Vat 
<  firmness' — amounting  to  obstinacy ;  it  exceed  de  maxi 
mum  !  I  vould  shave  you  all  de  time — for  noting — -joust 
to  feel  your  head  !  He  is  gone  !  He'las  !  mon  Dieu  ! 
quel  malheur !  Sac-r-r-r-e* !" 


PAULINE'S  PET: 

A    BIRD   STOEY. 

«  AH,  mon  Dieu  !  La  pauvre  Pauline  !  Where  are 
you  now,  my  child  ?"  exclaimed  a  strange,  piping  voice. 

It  was  far  down  Royal  street,  in  that  part  of  New 
Orleans  where  everybody  and  everything  speak  French. 
We  turned  to  look.  We  could  see  no  one.  Whence 
came  the  melancholy  cries  ? 

"  Your  little  hands  are  so  cold,  so  cold.  Ah,  mon 
Dieu,  so  cold.  La  pauvre  Pauline  !" 

The  notes  were  so  distinct,  the  voice  so  peculiar ;  and 
still  we  could  see  no  one. 

At  length,  hanging  before  the  low  door  of  an  old 
frame  building,  we  observed  a  round,  fluted  cage,  with 
a  Chinese  dome,  and  perched  in  a  ring  dangling  from 
the  top,  a — PARROT.  He  was  a  green-coated  bird,  with 
a  crafty  eye  and  an  aquiline  nose.  Could  it  have  been 
he  whom  we  heard  ?  We  should  judge  not,  from  his 
demureness.  He  held  his  tongue  as  we  surveyed  him, 
and,  when  we  changed  our  position,  revolved  his  shallow 
sinciput  about  the  pivot  of  his  neck,  like  an  owl.  W^ 
averted  our  face,  and  watched  him  furtively. 

"  La  pauvre — " 

What !  was  it  the  parrot,  after  all.?  We  wheeled 
around  suddenly.  No — the  bird  fluttered  his  wings, 
scratched  his  bill  with  his  foot,  and  resumed  his  quiet 
manner  again. 

Here  the  door  opened,  and  a  man  appeared  in  it, 

(26) 


PAULINE'S  PET.  27 

food  for  the  bird.  The  bird  was  animation  itself,  now, 
and  no  longer  regarded  us. 

«  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  La  pauvre  Pauline  !  Where  are 
you  now,  my  child  ?  Your  little  hands  are  so  cold,  so 
cold.  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !  so  cold.  La  pauvre  Pauline  !" 

It  was  the  parrot. 

We  were  stopping  in  front  of  a  bird-fancier's  store, 
and  it  was  the  proprietor  who  appeared  at  the  door. 
He  was  a  man  of  at  least  fifty  years,  and  had  a  grave, 
dignified  countenance,  not  very  appropriate  to  his  busi 
ness.  Had  we  met  him  elsewhere,  we  should  have  taken 
him  for  a  Judge.  He  had  grown  gray  in  the  service  of 
canaries.  His  soul  had  been  devoted  to  robins.  His 
heart  was  a  cote  full  of  white  doves.  What  treasures 
of  ornithological  hygiene,  pathology  and  pharmacy  he 
had  stuffed  his  brains  withal !  He  could  feel  the  pulse 
of  a  wren,  he  could  diagnose  a  fever  in  the  wing  of  a 
thrush,  and  detect  a  toothache  in  the  bill  of  a  sparrow. 
He  could  tell  you  when  a  blackbird  labored  under  an 
indigestion,  and  name  the  identical  fly  or  spider  that 
occasioned  it.  He  could  touch  the  craw  of  a  pigeon  and 
relieve  him  of  a  surfeit,  and  cure  a  mocking-bird  of  a 
colic  by  the  administration  of  two  or  three  little  stony 
pilules  or  gravels,  that  would  make  a  homceopathist's 
bowels  rumble.  He  prescribed  the  diet  of  his  feathered 
tenants  like  a  physician,  and  served  them  like  a  steward. 
There  was  a  dash  of  sentiment  in  the  man,  also.  He 
sympathized  in  the  loves  of  his  plumed  choristers,  and 
was  on  the  qui  vive  for  a  flirtation.  What  a  match 
maker  he  was,  to  be  sure  !  He  promoted  a  tete-d-tete, 
and  on  an  emergency  officiated  as  a  clergyman  to  unite 
a  couple,  and,  as  a  bridesman,  showed  the  way  to  a  cock 
to  the  vestal  cage  of  a  hen.  Generous  creature  !  he  even 
studied  architecture,  to  save  a  young  pair  the  trouble 
2* 


28  PAULINE'S  PET. 

of  building  a  nest.  He  was  an  admirable  housekeeper — 
cook — cup-bearer — nightman — and  nurse.  No  obstetri 
cian  excelled  him  in  his  patient  attendance  on  a  partu 
rient  female,  or  was  more  useful  in  the  birth  of  an  egg. 
He  contemplated  the  callow  brood  with  a  yearning  of 
paternity,  as  though  the  ovoid  germs  had  been  warmed 
into  life  by  the  heat  of  his  own  breast ;  and,  on  the 
blooming  of  the  first*feather,  experienced  the  sensations 
of  a  father  when  he  beholds  the  ivory  tip  of  the  first 
tooth  sprouting  from  the  coral  gums  of  his  child.  How 
joyously,  then,  he  undertook  the  education  of  the  new 
generation — the  patriarch  of  many — wise  as  Mentor, 
but  indulgent  as  Grandfather  Whitehead  ! 

You  may  go  to  the  Theatre  d'Orleans,  or  listen  to 
Jenny  Goldschmidt,  to  Catharine  Hayes,  to  Anna  Bishop 
— what  are  their  concerts  compared  to  his  ?  You  may 
be  a  whig,  and  Scott  may  be  your  favorite;  he  has 
«  fuss  and  feathers"  of  his  own  ! 

His  existence  passes  away  in  a  bird-Babel.  The 
learned  blacksmith,  Elihu  Burritt,  knows  not  more  lan 
guages  than  are  here  spoken.  Every  passion,  all  affec^ 
tions,  are  uttered  in  them. 

Do  his  starlings,  piled  cage  above  cage  on  his  shelves, 
pine  for  liberty  ?  They  were  never  acquainted  with  it. 
They  were  born  in  prison,  for  years  back.  He  has 
been  a  Providence  to  them.  They  are  happy;  and  so 
sing — "  they  cannot  say  why." 

But,  indeed,  what  do  they  sing  ?  Is  there  no  more 
burden  to  their  lays  than  there  is  meaning  in  the  mur 
murs  of  the  brook  !  No  more  !  There  is  a  fountain  of 
melody  in  their  throats,  and  the  strains  you  hear  are  its 
unconscious,  motiveless  overflowings.  There  is  no  link 
between  them  and  man. 

"  La  pauvre  Pauline  !" 


PAULINE'S  PET.  29 

There  is  a  link,  after  its  fashion. 

Those  words,  mechanically  repeated,  as  if  the  fickle 
winds  had  memory  and  the  thin  air  lips,  have  a  sad  sig 
nification. 

Let  us  draw  the  picture.  An  old  and  widowed  man, 
with  silver  locks  and  anxious  face.  See  him  seated  by 
a  small  bed.  Hold  the  curtains  back,  and  look.  Yes, 
it  is  the  sickly  flower,  half  blooming  into  life,  half  fading 
out  of  it,  under  the  shadow  of  the  stricken  tree.  A  lit 
tle  girl  rapidly  declining.  Her  early  sun  already  sets 
in  her  hectic  cheek,  and  her  brief  day  glistens,  like  the 
latest  flush  of  evening,  in  the  ominous  lustre  of  her  eyes. 
Her  white  temples  gleam  amid  her  loosened  tresses,  like 
young  moons  dimming  in  the  clouds. 

A  few  phials  are  scattered  over  a  table  near  the  bed, 
and  a  crucifix  wreathed  with  flowers  rests  on  her  pillow. 
On  the  mantelpiece  is  a  round,  fluted  cage  with  a  Chinese 
dome,  and  perched  in  a  ring  dangling  from  the  top,  a — 
PARROT  ;  a  green-coated  bird,  with  a  crafty  eye  and  an 
aquiline  nose, — the  little  girl's  Pet. 

The  little  girl  gazes  upon  her  sobbing  father.  What 
is  it  she  is  saying  ? 

" It's  getting  dark,  mon  p£re."  Alas!  it  was  broad 
glaring  sunlight.  "  Light  the  candle,  I  cannot  see.  Or, 
kiss  me,  and  let  me  go  to  sleep.  Bonne  nuit !" 

She  kisses  him.  How  his  tears  rain  upon  her  face  ! 
She  gropes  for  the  crucifix  on  her  pillow ;  and,  folding 
the  holy  symbol  upon  her  breast,  falls  asleep — in  Christ. 

Oh,  divine  Lover  of  children,  kiss  Thou  her  into  life 
once  more ! 

"  La  pauvre  Pauline  !  Thy  hands  are  so  cold — so 
cold.  Ah,  mon  Dieu !  so  cold.  Where  art  thou  now, 
my  child  ?"  cried  the  heart-broken  parent. 

Years,  long  years  ago.     The  stricken  tree  has  per- 


30  PAULINE'S  PET. 

ished  as  the  blighted  flower.  Others  live  in  the  house 
the  father  and  daughter  then  occupied ;  and  the  parrot 
has  gone  to  the  bird-fancier's.  There,  at  all  times,  out 
of  season  and  out  of  place,  he  repeats  what  he  heard 
his  old  master  oftenest  say.  It  is  his  nature. 

"Will  you  sell  us  this  parrot?"  we  asked. 

«  Sacrd !  no,"  said  the  shopman.  "He  is  too  old. 
Et  puis,  he  amuses  me  and  the  other  birds.  I  can  make 
him  -call  the  jolie  demoiselle  any  time,  for  a  cracker. 
Youlez-vous  de  buiscuit,  my  bird?  Listen  !" 

"  Poor  Pauline  !  Ah,  mon  Dieu  !"  said  the  parrot ; 
and  stopped. 


TAKING  A  BRACE  OF  BRIGS  IN  TOW. 

Two  young  brigs,  about  half  seas  over,  were  tacking, 
at  yardarm  and  yardarm,  down  Chartres  street,  late  last 
evening,  when,  with  a  lurch  that  shook  them  fore  and 
aft,  they  hauled  up  opposite  Stewart's  clothing  store, 
and  cast  anchor  on  the  sidewalk,  their  sterns  playing 
about,  until  they  braced  themselves  against  a  lamp-post. 

"Lad,  a-hoy!"  hailed  the  captain  of  one  brig. 

"Boy,  a-hoy !"  hailed  the  captain  of  the  other. 

"  D'ye  spy  that  youngster  aloft  there,  Bill  ?"  inquired 
the  first. 

"White  pants,  yellow  vest,  pea-green  jacket,  and 
cap?" 

"  Ay,  ay,  sir  !" 

"What's  his  object,  standing  out  on  the  bowsprit  of 
that  concern,  eh?" 

"  Dim  my  top-lights,  if  I  know,  Tom  !" 

"He's  hanging  out  a  signal,"  cried  the  first  captain, 
launching  himself  into  the  street. 

"  Pipe  all  hands  on  deck  !"  exclaimed  the  secondhand, 
putting  his  fingers  in  his  mouth,  he  gave  vent  to  a  shrill 
whistle,  which  re-echoed  along  the  street,  bringing  many 
night-caps  of  clerks  and  shop-men  to  their  doors  and 
windows. 

"  Clear  the  long-boat  !  My  hearties,  over  with  the 
yawl !"  fairly  screamed  the  brig  Bill. 

"I  say,"  said  the  brig  Tom,  "we  must  board  that 

(31) 


32       TAKING  A  BRACE  OF  BRIGS  IN  TOW. 

concern  I  She's  a  coaster  with  a  contraband  cargo — 
French  goods,  shiver  my  timbers !  Come,  up  with  me, 
and  we'll  rescue  the  cabin-boy.  Now — have  at  ye — yo- 
he  !"  and  Tom,  urged  by  the  shoulders  of  Bill,  began  to 
scale  the  main-mast  supporting  the  veranda. 

"•  Hello  !  what  are  you  about  there  ?"  demanded  watch 
man  Moreau,  heaving  up  along  side  of  the  two  crafts. 
"  Get  down  from  there,  will  you  ?  and  go  away,  and  be 
quiet !" 

"A  foreigner,  blast  my  eyes!  A  rakish-looking 
schooner — a  pirate,  Tom  !  To  your  guns,  my  jolly  tar  ! 
Let's  give  him  a  broadside !" 

Whack !  thwack !  bing !  bang  !  sounded  the  fists  of 
the  parties.  Tr-r-r-r !  sounded  the  watchman's  rattle, 
and  soon  a  posse  of  Charlies  bore  down  upon  the  devoted 
brigs,  surrounding  and  overpowering  them. 

"  Well,  Bill,  we've  gotten  into  a  nest  of  corsairs — 
Spanish  freebooters,  by  the  Lord !  What  can  we  do 
against  a  fleet,  eh  ?  We  must  e'en  strike  our  colors, 
though  it's  enough  to  spring  a  leak  in  a  good  seaman's 
eyes  to  think  of  such  a  thing!"  and  Tom  began  to  weep 
in  a  maudlin  manner. 

"Why,  Tom!  in  the  hold  at  the  liquor,  already? 
Never  give  up — be  a  man  !  Let's  blow  up  the  magazine !' 
and  Bill  drew  a  pistol  from  his  breast. 

«  No  you  don't,  my  lark !  no  you  don't !"  said  the 
city  guardian,  disarming  the  rioter.  «  E-gad  !  both  of 
you  shall  be  put  in  the  lock-up  for  your  smartness.  So 
come  along  with  you.'* 

"  In  the  dry-dock,  marlinspikes  and  hammercloth ! 
Well,  well,  this  has  been  the  stiffest  breeze  we've  had  for 
a  long  time,  Tom  !" 

"A  perfect  squall !"  assented  Tom. 


TAKING  A  BRACE  OF  BRIGS  IN  TOW.       33 

"  However,  never  mind,"  acquiesced  Bill,  cheerfully. 
"  Farewell,  my  sweet  little  cherub,  up  there  aloft ! 
We'll  throw  you  a  line  yet.  Farewell — farewell" — kiss 
ing  his  hand  and  waving  it  towards  the  wooden  statue, 
until  watchmen  and  prisoners  disappeared,  on  their  way 
to  the  lock-up  of  the  Second  District. 


THE  DIFFERENCE  BETWEEN  A  BETTER 
AND  ABETTOR  AT  MONTE. 

AT  the  Metairie  race- course,  the  other  day,  we  were 
struck  with  the  prodigious  luck  of  a  very  gentlemanly 
man,  apparently,  with  an  open,  smiling  face,  and  well- 
brushed,  white  hat,  at  the  game  of  monte.  No  one  was 
playing  at  his  table,  but  the  <* professional"  man  and 
himself.  The  "  professor"  seemed  in  a  fret — a  fume, — 
and  yet  was  magnanimous  withal,  acknowledging  that 
the  tide  was  against  him  to-day,  that  he  would  suffer  a 
Waterloo  defeat,  but  avowing  that  he  would  die  game  as 
long  as  he  had  a  picayune.  The  man  with  the  white  hat 
smiled  more  and  more ;  he  began  to  bet  carelessly — 
recklessly — and  still  he  won !  The  «  professional"  man, 
in  agony  at  his  repeated  heavy  losses,  invoked  the  spec 
tators  to  come  to  his  assistance,  and  immolate  him  at 
once,  not  prolong  his  sufferings.  The  white  hat  requested 
all  to  stand  back,  adding  with  a  brighter  smile  than  ever, 
that  he  wished  to  have  the  happiness  of  breaking  and 
ruining  his  opponent  by  his  own  single  exertions. 

At  length  a  third  individual,  who  had  been  watching 
the  game  with  intense  interest,  moved  from  our  side  and 
approached  the  table.  He  was  evidently  a  "raw  hand" 
at  gambling,  but  the  sight  of  the  pile  of  dollars,  melting 
down  so  rapidly  and  flowing  into  the  pockets  of  the 
gentleman  with  the  white  hat,  was  too  powerful  a  tempt 
ation  for  him  to  resist.  He,  also,  began  betting.  But 
he  was  prudent  enough  to  follow  in  the  wake  of  his  sue- 

(34) 


DIFFERENCE   BETWEEN  A   BETTER   AND   ABETTOR.     35 

cessful  confrere.     On  whatever  numbers  the  latter  de 
posited  stakes,  he  placed  his  own. 

But,  now,  strange  to  say,  the  tide  of  good  fortune, 
which  had  so  long  wafted  the  white  hat  buoyantly  along 
its  silver  current,— like  the  Mississippi  river,  made  a 
sudden  detour,  and  disembogued  itself  into  the  lake  at 
the  elbow  of  the  " professor."  The  two  betters,  finding 
themselves  in  shoaly  water,  hastened  to  get  back  into 
the  current  again.  They  did !  They  got  into  deep 
water,  and  found  that  they  were  the  simplest  gudgeons 
in  the  world  to  swim,  too !  The  white  hat  lost  all  his 
winnings,  and  hundreds  besides,  he  declared,  with  the 
same  cordial  smile  animating  his  open  countenance. 
The  equanimity  of  that  cfiapeau  bland 

As  for  the  "raw  hand,"  he  was  certainly  out  of  pocket 
a  hundred  and  fifty  dollars  in  five  minutes,  as  we  reckoned 
ourselves  ;  but  he  had  not  the  pleasant  philosophy  of  the 
other,  to  smooth  his  mug  with — and  he  went  off  very 
dejected,  looking  (as  we  dare  say  he  felt)  essentially 
green  and  mean. 

The  "raw  hand,"  who  was  the  plucked  pigeon  really, 
was  not  a  better,  of  any  account  to  himself:  a  bettor 
was  that  same  white  hat — and  there's  the  difference ! 


ORGANIZED  BULL-FIGHT  ON  JACKSON 
SQUARE. 

A  FEW  words  upon  this  important  subject. 

The  centre  of  Young  New  Orleans,  we  leaned  against 
the  high  pedestal  of  one  of  the  low  statues  in  Jackson 
Square,  and  listened  to  the  music  with  as  unsophisticated 
ear  as  any  of  the  short  people  who  surrounded  us. 

The  fact  is,  we  had  treated  the  juvenile  party  to  figs, 
and  agreed  to  pay  the  organ-grinder. 

The  organ-grinder  was  an  Italian,  and  by  his  musical 
taste  earned  his  bread.  His  clothes  were  covered  with 
patches,  which  at  a  distance  might  have  been  mistaken 
for  stars  and  garters  ;  and  below  his  jacket,  behind,  de 
pended  a  white  pocket-handkerchief — viewing  it,  also,  at 
an  enchanting  distance.  Over  his  shoulders  passed  the 
belt  which  supported  his  organ,  after  the  manner  of  a 
drum,  in  front  of  him.  With  his  right  hand  he  turned 
a  windlass,  that  brought  up  buckets  full  of  melody,  with 
which  he  refreshed  the  air.  His  left  hand  he  extended 
for  a  dime,  the  toll  he  exacted  for  his  grinding. 

The  notes  of  the  organ-grinder  made  the  youngsters' 
trifles  of  hearts  throb  like  peas  on  a  sounding-board, 
though  our  own  large  viscus  yet  rested  quietly  at  its 
tether. 

But,  at  a  change  in  the  tune,  with  considerable  clatter, 
a  door  in  the  organ  flew  open,  and  in  an  instant  we  were 
transported  to  Spain ! 

The  scene  exhibited  Madrid  afar-off,  a  convent  on  one 
side,  a  gipsy  tent  on  the  other,  a  barren  plain,  a  shallow 

(36) 


ORGANIZED    BULL-FIGHT.  37 

stream,  and,  most  conspicuous  of  all,  in  the  midst  of  the 
panorama,  a  circular  enclosure,  which  we  instinctively 
knew  to  be  the  arena  of — 

An  approaching  Bull-Fight ! 

"VVe  throw  down  our  pen  in  utter  despair  of  depicting 
the  delight  of  Tommy  Sands,  the  ecstacy  of  Willie 
McKay,  the  exultation  of  Pierre  Labonne,  the  timid 
interest  of  Susy  Prue,  the  giddy  hilarity  of  Patty 
Dimple,  or  the  positive  glow  of  attention  that  flushed 
the  pretty  face  of  Corallie  La  Riante  ! 

The  sport  began. 

The  prelude  to  the  performance  consisted  of  five  or 
six  rapid  revolutions  of  the  crank,  by  which  we  under 
stood  the  organ-grinder  to  be  screwing  up  the  courage 
of  the  gladiators  in  the  green-room,  and  advising  us  to 
brace  our  nerves  generally. 

Ta-ra-ta-ra-ta-ta !  sounded  an  imitation  of  penny 
trumpets,  and  four  caballeros,  the  size  of  our  thumb, 
mounted  on  fairy  steeds,  and  armed  with  tooth-picks, 
pranced  gallantly  into  the  lists. 

The  reporter  was  here  uncomfortably  jammed  about 
the  knees  by  the  juvenile  mob. 

"Wai,  neow,  ar'n't  them  nice,  I  swan!"  exclaimed 
the  delighted  Tommy  Sands,  a  blade  of  a  Yankee  just 
planted  in  the  South. 

'•Ah,  bother!  they're  retrating  a'ready,  the  dirthy 
blaggards  !"  said  Willie  McKay,  a  green  bud  from  Erin, 
also  newly  grafted  here. 

"  Oh,  mon  Dieu !"  cried  Pierre  Labonne,  an  indige 
nous  "  sacre,"  the  shell  still  capping  his  head,  and  only 
beginning  to  be  fledged — "  vat  is  dat?" 

It  was  a  couple  of  matadores,  evidently  chips  from 
the  same  blocks  as  the  knights,  with  swords  and  red 
flags,  followed  by  what  would  have  been  taken  for  a 


38  ORGANIZED   BULL-FIGHT 

mouse  in  Bashan,  but  was  really  a  miniature  representa 
tion  of  a  toro. 

Susy  Prue  was  somewhat  shy  of  the  horns  of  the 
bull,  but,  notwithstanding,  coveted  him  in  petticoats  for 
a  doll ;  Corallie  La  Riante  danced  laughingly  around 
him,  merry  as  a  milkmaid;  and  giddy  Patty  Dimple, 
for  whose  fancy  there  was  no  accounting,  was  in  the  act 
of  kissing  the  bullock,  wlien  a  deep  bass  grunt  of  the 
organ  scared  her  away. 

The  matadores  advanced,  at  a  rather  stiif  pace,  sud 
denly  stopped,  shook  their  scarlet  banners,  and  with 
extraordinary  deliberation  touched  off  the  torillo,  as  a 
school  boy  touches  off  a  toy  cannon.  The  animated 
mouthful  of  beef  became  enraged !  He  lowered  his 
head,  he  tossed  his  tail,  he  tore  the  ground  with  his  fore 
feet,  and,  balancing  hinself  upon  a  pin,  kicked  up  with 
his  hind  ones.  He  then  rushed  towards  the  swordsmen, 
who  didn't  move  a  peg,  and  would,  without  doubt,  have 
gored  them  mortally,  but  for  a  change  in  the  tune,  which 
brought  him  back,  with  a  jerk,  upon  his  plumpest  steaks. 
Once  more  the  pantomime  was  repeated,  and  the  espa- 
dachins  were  again  rescued  critically,  by  the  crank. 

The  organ,  puffed  up  a  good  deal  by  its  part  in  the 
play,  was  allowed  to  blow  awhile,  during  which  the  spec 
tators  relieved  their  legs  by  altering  their  positions,  and 
eulogized  the  combat  so  far. 

The  penny  whistles  announced  the  reappearance  of 
the  caballeros,  who  entered  the  circus  at  a  trot.  Cielo ! 
but  the  excitement  increased!  The  crank  spun  around 
faster  and  faster,  changing  the  tune  every  half  minute  ; 
the  aggravated  ternero  lowered  his  head,  tossed  his  tail, 
tore  the  ground  with  his  fore-feet,  and,  balancing  himself 
on  the  pin,  kicked  up  with  his  hind  ones  more  and  more; 
the  infantcria  touched  him  off  incessantly,  firing  hin\ 


ON   JACKSON    SQUARE.  39 

like  a  signal  gun ;  and  the  horsemen  pricked  the  poor 
veal  with  their  tooth-picks,  as  though  he  was  stalled  in 
the  hollow  of  an  imaginary  tooth  ! 

At  length,  the  bull  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  a  senor 
mounted  on  a  bit  of  blue  sealing-wax.  Rearing  up,  he 
would  infallibly  have  taken  the  gentilhombre  about  the 
midriff,  but  for  an  unexpected  cascade,  of  an  octave,  in 
the  stream  of  melody,  which  served  to  depress  the  horns 
of  the  ox  beneath  the  horse,  whereby  steed  and  rider, — 
a  frightful  tableau ! — were  incontinently  lifted  up  and 
saddled  upon  the  bison  ! 

The  discovery,  alone,  of  a  string,  connecting  the  left 
rear  hoof  of  the  horse  with  the  machinery  of  the  organ, 
prevented  the  riotous  spectators  from  seizing  the  bull  by 
the  antlers,  and  releasing  the  cavalry.  The  crank, 
happily,  like  the  rattle  of  a  watchman,  restored  order 
by  winding  up  the  string,  which  dismounted  the  horse 
safely,  the  dragoon  spurring,  and  the  charger  caracoling 
very  livelily,  as  if  to  show  that  there  was  nobody  hurt. 

The  conflict  proceeded  with  vigor. 

"Naz-a-reth!" — a  village  near  Je-ru-sa-lem,  Tommy 
Sands  not  being  big  enough  to  swear  by  a  metropolis, — 
"  it  is  funny  now,  I  guess  !  Go  it,  hurdy-gurdy  !  go  it ! 
They're  all  pitchin'  into  the  ceow,  at  present.  Don't 
she  hook,  though?  That  feller  with  the  bloody  rag, 
didn't  he  stick  her  with  his  dirk  abeout  a  feet  ?  She's 
up  agin  !  Oh,  she's  pyert,  she  is,"  the  Yankee  urchin's 
exclamations  being  an  excellent  description  of  the  fight, 
finally  approximating  its  tragic  climax. 

"  Tonnere  !"  the  recently  hatched  Creole  thundered  in 
the  sunshine — «  de  horsemans  vill  give  de  coup.  Courage, 
brave  chevaliers — En  avant!  en  avant !  Foudre  !" 

"Arrah,  but  that  minikin  wid  the  sjiillala  of  straw 
gave  the  ycarlin'  the  finishin'  stroke.  It's  the  organ 
3** 


40  ORGANIZED   BULL-FIGHT. 

that's  blating  for  the  calf,  d' you  hear?"  said  petty 
Pat. 

The  stroke  Willie  McKay  spoke  of,  was,  indeed,  a  neat 
hit — we  never  saw  a  handsomer  knock-down.  Tommy 
Sands  was  particularly  elated. 

"  Handkore ! — handkore ! — handkore  !  Don't  you  say 
so,  Peer?  Handkore!"  Tommy  insisted. 

The  Italian  reversed  the  crank  several  rounds,  reset 
ting  the  bull,  who  was  accordingly,  by  special  request, 
knocked  in  the  head  over  again,  to  the  delirium  of 
Thomas. 

At  last,  an  uncommonly  comical  pigmy,  with  two  di 
minutive  black  beads  for  eyes,  and  a  score  of  diminutive 
white  beads  for  teeth,  which  his  distended  mouth  enabled 
him  to  exhibit,  danced  into  the  area,  holding  a  lasso  in 
his  hand.  After  divers  diverting  capers,  he  cast  the 
noose  around  the  horns  of  the  toro,  and  the  caballeros 
and  matadores  forming  a  line  with  their  backs  upon 
the  spectators,  they  all  retreated  into  the  green-room 
of  the  organ,  the  pigmy  ultimately  slowly  dragging  the 
defunct  bull  behind  him,  the  orchestra  meantime  playing 
a  sombre,  dead  march ! 

The  boys  and  girls,  much  gratified,  dispersed  them 
selves  over  the  square,  the  latter  in  company  with  their 
nurses,  yet  not  before  we  had  stolen  from  Patty  Dimple 
the  blossomy  kiss  she  had  tendered  the  kine.  The  organ- 
grinder,  pocketing  his  toll,  unscrewed  his  crank,  stuck 
the  balance-pin  of  the  taurus  in  his  jacket-collar,  shut 
up  the  glimpse  of  Spain,  slung  his  curious  instrument 
upon  his  shoulders,  and,  his  white  handkerchief  fluttering 
in  the  evening  breeze,  vanished  beyond  one  of  the  corners 
of  the  Pontalba  Buildings. 

Musica !  Toreo  !  y  Libertad ! 


PURSUIT  OF  KNOWLEDGE  UNDER 
DIFFICULTIES: 

OR,    ROMANCE    ON   THE    SIDEWALK. 

RAIN  or  shine,  morning,  noon,  and  evening,  we  have 
observed,  in  our  rambles  into  the  Third  District,  at  the 
corner  of  Royal  and  Esplanade  streets,  a  youth,  of 
about  nineteen  years  of  age,  plainly  dressed,  and  wear 
ing  a  dilapidated  sombrero  slouched  over  his  eyes,  stand 
ing  with  his  back  turned  upon  passers-by,  and  his  brow 
resting  against  the  yellow  wall  of  the  house  situated  at 
the  place  we  have  indicated. 

The  house  is  no  store,  or  shop,  or  office,  but  appears 
to  be  a  private  residence,  the  doors  and  windows  of 
which,  fronting  on  the  streets,  are  invariably  closed. 
What  relation,  beyond  that  we  have  described,  there 
exists  between  the  young  man  and  the  dwelling,  we  could 
not  discover ;  apparently,  there  is  none,  only  the  spot 
seems  to  be  a  favorite  haunt  with  him. 

The  number  of  times  we  had  noticed  this  youth,  the 
singular,  unsocial  attitude  he  always  maintains,  and  his 
profound  abstraction,  at  length  so  piqued  our  curiosity, 
that  we  determined  to  ascertain  his  employment.  Eight 
days  ago,  and  yesterday  during  the  rainy  weather  also, 
we  slackened  our  pace  as  we  passed,  and  peered  over  his 
shoulder.  Our  moment's  glance,  on  both  occasions,  re 
vealed  to  us  his  engrossing  occupation,  which  had  re 
mained  unchanged  during  the  week's  interval. 

(41) 


42  PURSUIT    OF   KNOWLEDGE 

He  was  reading  an  old,  worn  and  tattered  edition  of 
one  of  Cooper's  novels — The  Deerslayer. 

Why  does  he  thus  linger  upon  the  pages  of  the  book  ? 
It  may  be,  from  the  epicurean  delight  he  takes  in  the 
romance ;  or,  judging  from  his  homely  attire,  perhaps, 
poor  fellow  !  he  cannot  read  very  well,  and  has  painfully 
to  spell  every  word  as  he  proceeds. 

But,  whatever  the  cause  of  his  slow,  yet  persevering 
progress,  he  is  evidently  recompensed  for  his  toil.  What, 
to  him,  is  the  rumble  of  omnibuses  and  drays,  the 
ceaseless  scraping  of  foot  passengers,  the  puffing  of  the 
distant  steamboat  ?  His  fancy  is  remote  from  the  city, 
and  his  ear  deaf  to  its  noises.  His  spirit  hovers  mist- 
like  over  the  tranquil  waters  of  Glimmerglass  lake.  He 
hurries  with  Harry  March  to  the  island  cabin  of  Float 
ing  Tom  Hutter.  He  kindles  at  the  beauty  of  Judith, 
or  yearns  towards  the  wistful,  half-dernented,  guileless 
Hetty,  pining  with  uncommunicated  love.  He  shares 
the  solicitude  of  the  Big  Serpent,  Chingachgook,  to  free 
the  captive  Delaware  maiden,  Wah-ta  !-Wah  or  Hist- 
oh  !-Hist.  His  heart  grows  still  with  terror  as  he  wit 
nesses — nay,  shares — the  dangers  of  dauntless  Natty 
Bumpo,  the  Deerslayer ! 

Did  the  late  Mr.  Cooper,  when,  eleven  years  since, 
in  New  York,  he  sat  at  his  study  window,  reclining 
easily  in  his  large,  cushioned  arm-chair,  comfortably 
plotting  and  writing  this  fine  prose-poern ; — did  he  ever 
fancy  that  he  would  be  perused  so  devouringly  at  the 
street-corners  of  New  Orleans  ?  And  is  this — fame  ? 
But  what  is  fame  to  the  gifted  romancer,  the  chief  of 
American  authors,  now  ? 

Well,  well — a  word  to  that  Indefatigable  Reader,  then 
truce  to  this  subject. 

Oh,  thou  !  who  standest  at  the  corner  of  Royal  and 


UNDER    DIFFICULTIES.  43 

Esplanade  streets,  with  slouched  sombrero  over  thine 
eyes,  thy  back  shown  to  the  public,  and  thy  brow  resting 
against  the  yellow  house, — pursuing  knowledge,  it  is  but 
too  plain,  under  difficulties — perusing  dead  men's  living 
romances  on  the  unrefined  side-walk  !  Turn  the  leaves 
faster — hasten  to  the  "finis"  at  the  close — and  retire. 
For,  consider  what  a  marvel  thou  art !  Many  may,  and 
do,  think  thee  mad ;  and  so  might  we  have  portrayed 
thee  : — mad — mysteriously  drawn  to  one  spot — there 
spell-bound — and  mumbling  senselessly  over  the  un 
turned  pages  of  the  poet — the  rain  beating  upon  thee, 
as  yesterday — the  hot  sun  scorching  thee,  as  for  six  days 
before  !  Shut  the  volume ; — Hist  and  the  Serpent  mar 
ried,  March  ran  away  blustering,  Floating  Tom  was  a 
pirate,  Judith  wasn't  as  virtuous  as  beautiful,  poor  Hetty 
died,  and  Deajrslayer  vanished  in  the  Glimrnerglass 
woods  : — Shut  the  volume  ! 


THE  CHARITY  HOSPITAL. 

A  STRANGER  in  the  city,  a  plain  and  unassuming  up- 
country  man,  not  remarkable  for  the  acuteness  of  his 
intellectual  capacities,  and  who  had  never  been  in  New 
Orleans  before,  among  other  places  the  fame  whereof 
had  reached  his  provincial  ears,  one  day  last  week  visited 
the  CHARITY  HOSPITAL. 

At  the  time,  only  a  patient  or  two  vanishing  through 
a  distant  door — a  nurse  going  from  the  apothecary's 
room  into  some  of  the  wards — a  dark-robe^d,  quiet-moving 
Sister  of  Charity,  on  her  round  of  heavenly  mercy — or 
a  priest,  with  grave  face,  hastening  to  shrive  a  dying 
penitent — were  to  be  seen  within  the  long  corridors  of 
that  great-asylum  of  disease  and  suffering.  The  medical 
officers  had  either  completed  their  clinical  visitations,  or 
they  were  engaged  in  their  own  private  offices. 

The  stranger  had  entered  the  main  door  of  the  hos 
pital,  alone  and  unannounced,  and  soon,  instead  of  re 
tiring  to  the  Clerk's  office,  where  every  courtesy  would 
have  been  extended  to  him,  and  information  cheerfully 
imparted,  became  confused,  and  loitered  awkwardly  in 
front  of  the  gilded  placard  in  the  hall,  which  recounts 
in  brief  the  history  of  the  institution. 

At  length  he  was  observed  by  an  individual,  who  at 
once  politely  approached  him. 

Several  medical  students  had  noticed  the  stranger  at 
the  same  time,  but,  when  the  individual  whom  we  have 
mentioned  came  forward,  they  disappeared  in  the  apothe- 

(44) 


THE    CHARITY    HOSPITAL.  45 

cary's  apartment.  Their  rather  singular  conduct  is, 
perhaps,  explained  by  the  dialogue  that  ensued  between 
the  individual  and  the  stranger. 

"You  are  a  stranger,"  said  the  former,  blandly, 
"wishing  to  see  our  eleemosynary  establishment?" 

"No,  sir.  I — I — would  like  to  see  the  hospital, 
though,"  replied  the  latter,  hesitatingly. 

"  The  same,  the  same.  I  perceive  you  are  not  familiar 
with  our  technicalities.  We  must  employ  them,  how 
ever — we  could  not  get  on  without  them,"  rejoined  the 
individual,  smiling.  "But  excuse  me,  pray.  I  am  Dr. 
McTamoram,  the  house  surgeon  and  physician.  Whom 
have  I  the  pleasure  of  addressing?" 

"  Timothy  Tyson,  sir,  of  South  Port,  Alabama,"  an 
swered  the  stranger. 

"Sir,  I  am  Uappy  to  form  your  acquaintance,"  said 
Dr.  McTamoram,  with  empressement. 

"  And  I'm  sure  I'm  glad  to  know  you,  Doctor,"  said 
Mr.  Tyson,  heartily. 

The  individual  and  the  stranger,  accordingly,  shook 
hands  very  cordially. 

The  heads  of  the  medical  students  were  visible  a  mo 
ment  just  here,  but  disappeared  quickly,  as  before. 

That,  evidently,  Dr.  McTamoram,  chief  of  the  hos 
pital,  keeps  his  students  in  disciplined  awe  of  him,  in 
spite  of  their  idle  curiosity,  would  have  been  a  natural 
reflection ;  and  their  rather  singular  conduct  is  explained, 
then. 

"Now,  sir,  if  you  will  accept  my  arm,  I  will  accom 
pany  you  through  the  various  wards,  elucidating  matters 
as  we  proceed,"  said  Dr.  McTamoram. 

Mr.  Tyson  accepted  his  arm,  and  they  passed  conse 
cutively  through  various  wards. 

"  This  is  our  cancer-ward,"  elucidated  the  Doctor. 


46  THE    CHARITY    HOSPITAL. 

"  Cancer,  a  crab.  A  portion  of  the  flesh  becomes  or 
ganized  and  endowed  with  distinct  vitality.  It  assumes 
the  shape  of  a  crab,  burying  its  claws  in  the  sound  part, 
and  nourishing  itself  thereupon.  It  clings  with  vivacity 
to  its  nest,  and  even  when  attacked  by  caustics,  or  the 
knife — the  practice,  hitherto — it  is  almost  as  difficult  to 
eradicate  its  scattered  members,  as  to  destroy  the  life  of 
the  hideous  parasite  itself.  I  have  a  new  remedy  discover 
ed  in  my  experiments  upon  the  terrapin.  I  apply  a  coal 
of  fire  to  the  back  of  the  monster ;  it  shivers,  squirms, 
draws  up  its  long,  crooked  legs  from  their  sockets  in  the 
muscles,  and,  with  a  peculiar  screech,  leaps  upon  the  floor, 
when  it  is  annihilated  with  clubs  by  the  younger  surgeons. 
The  wound  of  its  former  bed  is  rapidly  brought  together, 
strips  of  adhesive  plaster  are  used,  and  it  heals  by  the 
first  intention." 

Mr.  Tyson  stared. 

"  But  why  are  your  patients  laughing  so,  Doctor  ?" 
inquired  he. 

"  Can't  help  it,  sir  !  Joy  in  my  infallible  remedy  ! 
We  will  continue  our  round.  You  are  now  looking  up 
on  fifty  victims  of  elephantiasis.  The  word  is  derived 
from  elephant.  These  people  are  West  Indians.  They 
are  diseased  in  their  legs — not  with  white-swelling,  not 
with  dropsy — with  elephantiasis  !  Such  legs  !  Larger 
than  their  bodies — large  as  oaks  !  They  first  had  corns! 
A  shooting  pain  irradiated  from  the  little  toe — a  pulsing 
star  of  agony  ! — circulation  was  arrested,  and  the  young 
man  or  woman  began  to  enlarge  in  the  inferior  extremi 
ties.  Imagine  their  mortification  !  They  are  fond  of 
the  dance ;  they  parade  the  beauty  of  their  feet ;  they 
are  devoted  to  athletic  exercises ;  and  to  be  confined 
forever  with  an  hourly  augmenting  deformity !  The 
disease  was  originally  inflicted  upon  the  human  species 


THE   CHARITY   HOSPITAL.  47 

by  the  blow  of  an  elephant's  trunk — that  huge  animal 
being  in  a  state  of  hydrophobia.  A  lad  from  the  coun 
try  was  giving  it  peanuts.  It  raised  its  muscular  coil, 
lashed  him  around  the  legs,  and  inoculated  him  with 
elephantiasis.  But  I  think — I  think — not  to  give  these 
people  too  much  hope,"  whispered  the  chief  of  the  hos 
pital — «  a  few  grains  of  crushed  billiard-ball — powdered 
ivory — taken  daily,  fasting,  may  be  of  service.  There 
is  a  vulgar  saying  about  the  hair  of  a  dog.  Sir,  there 
is  truth  in  the  hair  of  a  dog.  It  is  one  of  those  pro 
verbs  which  embody  the  wisdom  of  the  common  obser 
vation,  and  furnish  hints  to  the  philosophers.  The  hair 
of  a  dog  is  the  generatrix  of  homeopathy — similia  simil- 
ibus  curantur  !  A  few  grains  of  ivory  dust" — 
They  were  in  another  ward. 

"  Our  itch-charnber,"  said  the  Doctor.  "  Start  not! 
I  can  preserve  you  with  this  watering-pot.  I  describe 
a  circle  of  moisture  around  us.  The  itch-insects  can 
not  swim  across  the  moat  under  an  hour.  This  insect 
is  analogous  to  the  bed-bug,  only  being  much  smaller, 
it  burrows  in  the  pores  of  the  skin.  It  there  deposits 
thousands  of  eggs,  which  are  warmed  into  existence  by 
that  hatching-machine,  man  himself.  When  the  young 
begin  to  swarm,  the  curse  of  Pharaoh  is  realized  !  They 
convert  the  entire  surface  into  one  vast  honey-comb  of 
tantalizing  holes.  What  temptation  to  scratch !  But 
scratching  affords  no  more  relief  than  a  mirage  water. 
The  usual  medicaments  are  red  precipitate  and  sulphur. 
I  do  not  fancy  them.  I  provide  each  patient,  on  his 
admission  into  the  chamber,  with  a  cheap  microscope 
and  a  paper  of  needles.  I  say,  <  Scratching  only  ag 
gravates.  Each  of  you,  examine  with  your  microscopes 
the  backs  of  the  others,  which  is  pleasanter  than  claw 
ing.  When  you  detect  an  insect,  pin  him.  A  cent  a 
4 


48  THE   CHARITY   HOSPITAL. 

dozen  for  the  bugs  !'  Thus,  acting  upon  their  cupidity, 
I  prevent  their  self-irritation,  and,  when  the  bugs  are  all 
killed,  cure  the  complaint." 

The  heads  of  the  medical  students,  who  had  followed 
them  up  stairs,  were  visible  a  moment,  just  here,  but 
quickly  disappeared  again. 

"  Step  into  this  little  cabinet.  It  is  our  tape-room, 
as  we  facetiously  term  it.  Those  bottles,  there,  are 
filled  with  tape-worms.  They  are  an  infinite  series  of 
watermelon-seeds,  stringing  themselves  out  for  seventy 
and  a  hundred  feet,  in  the  manner  of  a  flock  of  wild 
geese.  They  inhabit  the  bowels,  you  are  aware.  They 
devour  your  food,  preventing  nutrition.  The  afflicted 
waste  away  to  skeletons,  notwithstanding  they  have  the 
appetites  of  gluttons.  Our  city  has  been  denominated 
hell  by  a  clergyman ;  this  is  the  worm  that  never  dies, 
except  under  the  combined  influence  of  turpentine  and 
tin ;  though  my  own,  and  the  best,  antidote  is  a  bolus 
of  chesnut  burs,  on  the  sharp  spines  of  which,  button 
after  button,  they  impale  themselves,  when,  in  my  turn, 
I  resort  to  the  tin  and  turpentine.  We  pot  these  ento- 
zoa  in  vases  of  alcohol,  afterwards  desiccate  them,  and 
manufacture  from  them  our  straps  and  bandages." 

Dr.  McTamoram  paused  before  the  entrance  of  the 
fifth  ward.  He  was  somewhat  excited  in  his  appearance, 
his  eyes  brightening  and  dilating.  The  muscles  of  his 
lips  twitched  nervously. 

«  Ere  we  examine  the  female  apartment,  permit  me, 
dear  Tyson,  to  present  you  my  view  of  the  origin  of  all 
diseases.  I  am  an  .animalculist,"  said  the  surgeon  and 
physician.  "  I  believe  in  the  animalcular  origin  of  all 
diseases.  I  have  seen  a  pole  covered  with  bees — with 
flies — with  ants.  Such  a  pole  is  the  osseous  frame  of 
man,  and  it  is  covered  with  animals,  from  the  crown  of 


THE    CHARITY    HOSPITAL.  49 

the  head  to  the  sole  of  the  foot,  inside  and  outside. 
Worms  prey  upon  us  in  life,  and  are  the  source  of  every 
malady,  being  ocular  or  microscopic.  The  latter  kind 
cloud  the  air  in  times  of  epidemics,  and  in  most  sporadic 
cases  a  -worm  is  found,  on  dissection,  feeding  upon  the 
heart,  burrowing  in  the  stomach,  or  squirming  in  the 
brain.  After  death,  worms  batten  on  the  waxen  corpse, 
and  on  the  tortured  soul  in  purgatory.  In  the  very 
dawn  of  our  race's  history,  you  remember,  it  was  a 
serpent" 

That  word  seemed  to  produce  a  magical  effect.  McTa- 
moram's  eyes  grew  brighter  and  wider,  his  lips  twitched 
more  nervously,  his  hair  rose  on  end,  he  looked  around 
him  in  horrible  affright.  «  Serpents  !"  he  exclaimed,  in 
a  dreary  whisper.  "  They  surround  us  !  There  ! — and 
there  !  and  there  !  Do  you  mark  ?  Great  knots  of  them 
inextricably  interfolded,  each  one  struggling  to  get  its 
fanged  head  uppermost !  And  there  ! — creeping — creep 
ing  along  the  floor — creeping  !  Oh,  heaven  !  the  veno 
mous  spiral  inevitably  nears  us  !  Horror  ! — a  hissing 
serpent  wreathes  itself  around  my  neck — tear  !  tear  it 
from  me  !  Ha  !  stand  back  !  Why,  Tyson — you  have 
deceived  me — you're  an  impostor — YOU  ARE  YOURSELF  A 
SERPENT  ! !  Threat  me  not  with  your  poisonous  face — 
draw  in  your  lying,  forked  tongue  !  Down,  down — erect 
yourself  no  longer  upon  your  tail,  ghastly  serpent,  but 
crawl — crawl  in  your  native  dust !" 

The  indescribable  terror  and  fury  with  which  these 
exclamations  and  imprecations  were  uttered,  froze  the 
veins  of  Tyson  with  fear.  At  last,  he  assumed  courage 
enough — to  fly.  McTamoram,  shrieking,  pursued  him. 
He  seized  a  bed-post — on  wings  of  wind  he  followed 
after  the  panic-stricken  fugitive — he  raised  his  herculean 
club  in  act  to  inflict  a  fatal  blow,  when  the  medical 


50  THE   CHARITY    HOSPITAL. 

students,  whom  we  have  mentioned,  rushed  upon   the 
physician,  and  disarmed  him  ! 

Timothy  Tyson,  continuing  his  flight,  did  not  stay  to 
learn  that  McTamoram  was  once  a  student  of  medicine, 
but  that  hard  drinking  had  brought  upon  him  a  singular 
variety  of  mania,  during  which  he  imagined  himself 
chief  of  the  Charity  Hospital.  His  deranged  humor 
had  hitherto  been  but  a  harmless  crotchet,  limiting  itself 
to  the  constant  assertion  that  every  creature  was  a  worm 
or  wormy,  which  afforded  amusement  to  both  attache's 
and  visitors.  The  students  were  surprised  as  well  as 
shocked  by  the  sudden  and  violent  change  we  have 
described,  and,  in  consequence,  the  victim  of  intempe 
rance  was  securely  confined  in  his  cell. 


A  HACK-NIED  STORY. 

SNODGRASS  is  a  hackman.  Have  you  never  seen  him  ? 
He  is  not  one  of  the  first  to  board  a  steamer  on  her 
arrival  at  the  levee ;  he  is  rather  slow,  and  generally 
heads  the  second  assault.  He  is  about  your  size,  with 
a  very  red,  knobby  nose,  and  a  dark  crescent  under  either 
eye.  He  has  lost  his  front  teeth,  and  doesn't  interro 
gate  you  too  distinctly. 

When  that  splendid  boat,  the  "AMERICA,"  Johnson, 
captain,  (he  stands  indebted  a  trip  to  us  for  this  mention !) 
— touched  here  on  her  last  passage  down,  we  were  lean 
ing  against  her  guards,  contemplating  the  busy,  motley 
scene  before  us.  The  question  was  put  to  us'by  sundry 
individuals — but  somehow  we  only  noticed  Snodgrass — 

"Have  a  hack,  sir?" 

"  My  good  fellow, — yes.     To  the  Veranda." 

He  transported  us  and  our  baggage  to  the  hotel.  As 
he  lifted  the  latter  from  the  footboard  of  his  vehicle,  he 
glanced  at  our  name.  It  is  no  potent  name,  to  have 
produced  such  an  effect.  Down  from  his  broad  shoulders 
into  the  unclean  gutter  dropped  the  burden,  and  tears 
coursed  over  the  rude  driver's  cheeks. 

a  Ah,  Mr. ,"  said  he,  "I  am  ****  *****  r> 

A  schoolmate  of  ours,  in  our  boyhood,  many  years 
ago  !  But  what  a  change  !  The  child  of  most  respect 
able  provincial  parentage — of  love,  and  of  hope ;  born 
in  easy  circumstances— educated  at  the  best  schools  of 
his  native  town,  and  a  graduate  of  his  State's  University; 
reduced  to  his  present  ungainly  appearance  and  humble 
4*  (51) 


52  A    HACK-NIED    STORY. 

calling !  We  will  not  attempt  to  describe  the  bitter 
anguish  of  his  feelings  as  he  narrated  his  mournful  his 
tory  to  us ;  and  we  give  his  narrative  for  the  sake  alone 
of  the  solemn  lesson  it  conveys. 

"I  came  here  eight  years  since,"  said  he,  "with  a 
thousand  dollars  in  my  pocket,  and  a  score  of  letters  to 
the  most  prominent  merchants  who  dealt  up  our  way. 
I  had  never  visited  a  large  city  before,  and  was  so  elated 
at  the  opportunity  now,  that  I  didn't  often  think  of  the 
advice  of  my  father  and  the  prayers  of  my  mother,  when 
I  left  home ;  even  at  the  time  I  thought  them  tedious 
and  useless.  I  knew  how  to  take  care  of  myself,  and, 
besides,  I  resolved  I  ivould  have  some  fun,  let  my  kind 
and  prosy  parents  snub  me  as  they  pleased. 

"We  had  a  jolly  spell  coming  down — I  and  a  lot  of 
Mississippi  young  men — rich  as  cream  and  free  as  water. 
We  were  drunk  every  night,  I  believe.  To  be  sure,  I, 
who  never  was  intoxicated  previously,  felt  squeamish  in 
the  mornings,  but  it  was  a  gand  thing  to  lie  abed  till 
afternoon  on  the  next  day,  and  then  renew  the  orgies. 
I  learned  to  play  cards  also,  by  losing  over  a  hundred 
dollars,  for  I  had  been  a  Methodist  church-member  on 
trial  heretofore,  and  was  quite  ignorant. 

"Well,  we  reached  New  Orleans,  and  stopped  at  the 
St.  Charles.  I  remember  I  was  tipsy  when  I  got  out 
of  the  hack,  and  paid  the  man  five  dollars  for  my  quota 
of  the  charge.  Instead  of  thanking  me,  he  laughed  at 
me.  I  resented  the  low  fellow's  hilarity — pulled  his 
nose — and  whipped  out  a  bowie-knife.  But  I  was 
whirled  into  the  hotel,  and  up  to  a  little,  close  room,  in 
the  garret,  where  I  slept  till  dark. 

"I  joined  my  gay  companions  at  dark,  and  we  went 
to  the  theatre  to  see  Booth  play  Richard  Third.  Booth 
was  under  the  influence  of  liquor ;  at  least  the  audience 


A    HACK-NIED   STORY.  53 

hissed  him,  and  said  so ;  but  I  contradicted  them,  de 
fended  the  actor,  called  them  «  d — d  liars,'  and  exhibited 
my  boots  over  the  pit.  There  was  a  great  row  !  The 
lights  looked  so  bright,  though  they  danced  a  good  deal, 
and  the  noise  and  confusion  were  so  amusing !  But  a 
gentleman  walked  up  to  me,  tapped  me  on  my  arm,  and 
observing  that  he  was  a  friend  of  mine,  insisted  on  my 
accompanying  him  home.  I  recollect  that  I  conceived 
rather  a  fancy  to  the  man,  and  readily  consented.  As 
we  left  the  theatre,  I  asked  him  <  to  see  if  he  could  see 
my  companions,  whom  I  was  slighting  by  deserting 
thus."  « Never  mind,'  replied  my  friend;  <  be  quiet, 
for  I  am  on  the  watch.'  I  stayed  at  his  house  all  night ; 
he  had  numerous  visitors  beside  myself,  whom  I  disturbed, 
because  I  was  very  ill,  and  groaned  and  rolled  till  day 
light.  Then  I  was  introduced  to  one  Mr.  Caldwell,  who 
was  a  dry,  severe  man,  not  like  my  friend.  He  charged 
me  ten  dollars  for  the  introduction,  too ! 

"  Next  night  I  repaired  to  a  rouge  et  noir  table,  and 
lost  two  hundred  dollars,  by  betting  altogether  on  the 
red.  But  I  had  five  hundred  dollars  left,  and  my  letters 
would  set  me  straight  after  I  had  had  more  fun.  So  I 
went  to  see  a  ballet.  That  was  delightful.  I  was  sur 
prised  they  didn't  talk,  they  seemed  on  the  eve  of  doing 
so  all  the  while ;  it  would  have  been  a  relief  to  me  if 
they  had  talked,  for  I  found  my  face  wrinkling  in  sym 
pathy  with  theirs,  which,  when  I  discovered  it,  made  me 
feel  foolish.  I  learned  more  female  anatomy  that  night 
than  I  had  ever  dreamed  of.  My  acquisition  in  know 
ledge  gave  me  a  relish  for  tods  and  oysters.  Accord 
ingly,  I  had  a  glorious  supper  about  midnight.  Alas  ! 
alas,  for  the  stomach  of  those  young  days  ! 

"  From  the  saloon  I  resorted  to  a  place — which  shall 
be  nameless.  There  I  was  robbed  of  my  remaining 


54  A    HACK-NIED    STORY. 

money,  and  run  off  by  a  big  bully,  with  the  largest 
whiskers  I  ever  saw.  You  may  depend,  after  this,  I 

felt .     But  I  went  up  to  my  gay  companions ;  as 

usual,  they  invited  me  to  drink.  <  Excellent  friends ! 
I'm  in  luck — they'll  lend  me  funds.'  They  did  not! 
When  I  requested  them  to  do  so,  quite  genteelly,  just 
as  genteelly  they  declined.  Gradually,  but  genteelly, 
they  cut  my  acquaintance. 

"  I  presented  my  letters  to  the  merchants.  I  had 
delayed  applying  for  the  situation  I  sought  until  all  had 
supplied  themselves,  save  one — the  least  prominent. 
He  engaged  me.  The  sum  I  required  was  half  my 
wages.  With  an  effort,  I  asked  my  employer  for  it, 
telling  him — a  yarn.  He  hesitated — he  gave  me  the 
sum, — and  from  that  moment  lost  all  confidence  in  me. 
My  consciousness  of  this  last  fact  rendering  me  unhappy, 
together  with  the  strong  propensity  I  had  already  ac 
quired,  drove  me  to  the  bottle.  Nominally,  only,  I 
remained  with  my  employer  during  the  season. 

« I  pass  over  my  career  since,  cursorily.'  The  board 
ing-house  keepers  I  deceived,  until  I  could  get  credit 
nowhere — the  restaurants  I  officiated  in,  till  my  habits 
of  intoxication  caused  my  expulsion — my  supernume 
rary  position  on  the  stage,  up  to  the  period  when,  in  the 
character  of  a  rank-and-file  soldier,  I  discharged  my 
rammer  through  the  book  of  the  prompter — my  waiter- 
ship  in  a  hotel  on  Front  Levee  street — my  vagabondage 
— my  numerous  arrests  and  lodgings  in  the  watch-house — 
my  ruralizing  on  the  Recorder's  farm — my  long  confine 
ment  in  the  Charity  Hospital :  I  dwell  not  on.  Did  I 
never  endeavour  to  reform  ?  What !  with  my  sense  of 
degradation  ?  Never  !  - 

«  Yes — at  last ;  during  Father  Mathew's  sojourn  in 
New  Orleans,  I  bad  many  Irish  acquaintances  in  a  like 


A    IIACK-NIED    STORY.  55 

situation  to  my  own — many  having  begun  life  with  as 
fine  prospects  as  I  had.  Some  of  these,  moved  by  that 
benevolent  apostle's  appeals,  determined  to  do  better. 
I  united  with  them  at  their  persuasion.  I  signed  the 
temperance  pledge — and  have  not  tasted  a  drop  since. 
What  was  in  me,  you  perceive,  is  working  out  of  me, 
through  my  nose. 

"  I  have  been  getting  on  pretty  well,  lately.  I  own 
my  hack  and  horses.  I  have  changed  my  name  to  Snod- 
grass.  I  fear  my  parents  died  of  a  broken  heart,  and 
I  do  not  wish  to  bring  reproach  upon  their  memory  by 
being  called  after  them  !  Forgive  the  light  tone  in  which 
I  have  told  you  all  this." 

Such  was  his  strange,  eventful  history.  We  commend 
it  to  the  meditation  of  any  unfortunate  youth  who  may 
be  commencing  courses  similar  to  those  our  quondam 
school-fellow  portrayed  to  us. 


SCENE  AT  THE  CEMETERY. 

WE  were  wandering,  on  the  past  Sabbath  evening,  in 
one  of  those  enclosed  cemeteries  of  New  Orleans,  which, 
with  their  tombs  above  ground,  look  like  villages  of 
death  in  the  midst  of  a  city  of  life. 

We  were  struck  with  the  appearance  of  two  of  the 
visitors,  and  entered  into  conversation  with  a  respecta 
ble  old  citizen,  also  a  visitor,  concerning  them. 

"Only  forty-five  years  of  age!"  we  exclaimed,  in 
credulously. 

"  That  is  all,  sir,"  replied  the  respectable  old  citizen. 

"Why,  one  would  take  him  to  be  at  least  sixty." 

"Ah,  that  is  true.  But,  then,  you  must  consider 
twenty  years  of  grief.  I  am  sure  he  thinks  as  often  of 
her,  and  sheds  as  many  tears  to  her  memory,  now,  as 
he  did  when  she  first  died." 

"In  1832,  you  said?" 

"Yes." 

"And  he  never  sought  female  society  again?" 

"Never;  only  his  wife's  poor,  afflicted  sister  remains 
at  his  home.  She,  happily,  however,  is  removed  beyond 
the  consciousness  of  her  situation.  When  young,  she 
was  very  beautiful,  just  like  her,  except  that  she  was 
more  fragile.  She  was  much  admired  then,  I  have  been 
told.  They  say  she  was  engaged  to  be  married.  I  do 
not  know.  She  was  passionately  attached  to  her  elder 
sister,  and  her  death  was  so  sudden — just  two  months 
after  the  marriage — that  she  could  not  sustain  the  shock. 
She  has  been  imbecile,  ever  since." 

(56) 


SCENE   AT   THE   CEMETERY.  57' 

«  And  her  beauty  has  all  faded,  of  course  ?  Twenty 
years" — 

"  To  be  sure,  to  be  sure.  Twenty  years,  and — 
spasms." 

"  Entirely  fatuous  ?" 

"  Aye,  sir.  For  certainly,  she  does  not  comprehend 
the  meaning  of  her  own  sad  cries.  She  is  always  call 
ing  on  her  sister.  Sister  Catherine,  sister  Catherine. 
Those  are  the  words.  A  little  nearer,  sir;  you  may 
hear  her  repeating  them  at  present." 

True.  She  was  idly  lifting  the  stalk  of  a  fallen 
flower  growing  beside  her  sister's  tomb,  and  saying 
softly  between  whiles — 

4 'Sister  Catherine!  Dear  sister,  without  doubt  you 
are  a  teaze.  Charles  has  been  looking  for  you  this  half 
hour.  Sister  Catherine,  I  shall  let  your  flowers  pot 
themselves  hereafter.  Sister  Catherine  !" 

"  How  do  you  interpret  this  ?"  we  asked  our  in 
formant. 

"  Sir,  that  twenty  sorrowful  years  have  passed  away 
as  half  an  hour,  and  that  she  is  still  a  petted  child  play 
ing  in  her  sister's  garden." 

We  looked  again.  She  should  have  been  in  the 
maturity  of  her  loveliness  and  womanhood.  She  was 
weary,  worn  and  wan.  Her  hands  were  as  wax,  so 
pale,  thin  and  transparent.  Her  form  was  slight  and 
graceful,  from  the  harmony  of  its  proportions.  The 
contour  of  her  face  was  oval,  and  her  eyes  and  hair  were 
dark.  But  her  countenance  was  blank  as  marble ;  her 
lips  moved  and  syllables  came,  but  not  a  ray  of  expres 
sion  passed  over  the  calm,  blanched  features,  that  had 
once  been  an  electric  mirror  of  the  soul.  Her  mind 
was  utterly  gone ;  and  we  thought,  while  she  babbled 
child-like  over  the  fallen  flower,  how,  even  as  its  per 
fume  was  lost,  her  fine  intelligence  also  had  exhaled. 


58  SCENE   AT   THE   CEMETERY. 

«  But— <  Charles'  ?" 

"Is  lie.  You  see  him,  there;  him  we  have  been 
speaking  of." 

A  prematurely  old,  heart-broken  man,  with  drooping 
figure,  and  long,  silver  locks,  blown  by  the  fitful  breeze 
athwart  his  face.  He  had  a  restless,  wistful  air,  as  if 
he  was  ever  seeking  for  something  which  he  could  not 
find.  His  manner  towards  his  companion,  whom  he 
seldom  regarded,  but  whose  lightest  accent  escaped  riot 
his  ear,  was  a  strange  blending  of  hopelessness  and 
kindness. 

"What  is  he  doing?"  we  whispered,  retiring  to  a 
distance,  not  to  disturb  him. 

"  Renewing  the  chaplets  of  flowers,  with  which  he  is 
wont  to  deck  his  wife's  tomb." 

"  An  appropriate,  gracious  custom." 

«  He  has  done  this  every  Sunday  evening,  for  twenty 
years.  His  wife  was  never  interred  beneath  the  soil,  as 
many  were  before  these  Cemeteries  were  built.  She 
reposes  in  the  mausoleum  first  erected  over  her  remains. 
If  you  noticed,  there  is  a  small  recess  or  chamber  in  the 
sepulchral  tenement,  having  a  door  which  shuts  the 
visitor  out  from  the  world,  light  entering  in  through  the 
stained  glass  set  in  it.  The  chamber  is  furnished  with 
an  altar,  a  crucifix,  images  and  vases,  and  there  are  two 
chairs  for  the  bereaved." 

"The  bereaved,  then,  are  but  two?" 

"  But  two.  Observe,  through  the  door  that  he  has 
left  ajar,  he  is  filling  the  vases  with  water.  He  removes 
the  withered  wreaths  from  the  altar,  to  supply  it  with 
fresh  garlands.  The  poor  lady  joins  him,  not  under 
standing  him.  <  Sister  Catherine!'  She  is  calling  the 
inattentive  dead,  as  usual.  He  throws  himself  in  a 
chair.  <  Charles  has  been  looking  for  you,'  she  repeats. 
His  forehead  sinks  upon  his  knees.  He  is  weeping." 


SCENE   AT  THE    CEMETERY.  59 

"  Let  us  retire  yet  further.  Does  she  not  recognize 
him?" 

"  No,  she  recognizes  no  one ;  she  is  an  imbecile.  She 
simply  lives  and  reiterates  the  phrases  we  have  heard." 

"What  does  he  do?" 

«  Mourns,  and  takes  care  of  her.  She  is  killing  him. 
Her  blind,  unwitting  hand,  constantly  tears  his  wound 
afresh,  and  will  not  let  it  heal.  His  friends,  whenever 
he  would  permit  them  to  allude  to  the  subject,  tried  to 
persuade  him  to  send  his  demented  sister-in-law  to  a  lu 
natic  asylum,  but  he  would  not  entertain  the  proposal. 
Life  was  blasted  to  him,  and  there  could  be  no  comfort 
for  him — what  there  could  be,  was  in  her  mindless 
society." 

A  piercing,  wild,  discordant  scream,  at  this  moment 
issued  from  the  chamber  of  the  tomb. 

"  She  has  a  spasm,"  said  our  companion. 

Epilepsy  !     "VVe  will  not  describe  that  terrible  disease. 

A  carriage  and  servants  were  in  waiting  without  the 
walls  of  the  Cemetery,  as  though  in  readiness  for  some 
such  casualty  as  had  now  happened.  With  the  assistance 
of  the  latter,  the  unhappy  lady  was  borne  to  the  car 
riage  ;  the  heart-broken  widower  followed,  and  the  cor 
tege  drove  hurriedly  away. 


THREE  AT  A  HAUL. 

A    REMARKABLE    DEER   STORY. 

HERE'S  a  bit  of  hunting  experience,  of  which  we  will 

not  say  how  much  we  credit.  Gr is  our  author — 

an  attorney  of  a  sanguine  wit  and  temperament,  and 
known  in  his  region  by  the  euphonious  sobriquet  of  IXK- 
HORN,  with  which  term  he  was  wont  to  paternise  certain 
caustic  political  strictures  of  his  own  legitimate  beget 
ting. 

In  company  with  L'E ,  a  Creole  friend  of  ours 

— a  joyous,  etherial  spirit,  encased  in  a  Gothic  super 
fluity  of  flesh,  who  had  been  trying  the  frogs  of  North 
Alabama  for  the  renovation  of  his  health — we  three 
were  busily  bobbing,  last  summer,  in  the  Muscle  Shoals 
of  Tennessee  River. 

So  much  by  way  of  peroration.     The  attorney  spake  : 

"Note  yonder  tall  three-storied  house,  rising  from 
the  water's  edge — it  is  Wallace's  mill.  Before  Alfred 
Matthews  was  old  enough  to  be  guilty  of  the  sin  of 
being  a  salamander  and  fire-eater,  and  when  William 
Fuquai  wasn't  much  stouter,  they  came  one  afternoon  to 
the  mill  yonder.  While  their  corn  was  grinding,  they 
repaired  to  the  river,  and,  furnished  each  with  a  rod 
and  line,  sat  in  a  canoe,  a-fishing.  Ere  they  had  a  nib 
ble  their  attention  was  attracted  by  the  music  of  a  pack 
of  hounds  belonging  to  Charlie  McKiernon,  in  full  chase, 
evidently,  of  a  deer.  Happening  to  cast  their  eyes  up 
stream,  what  was  their  surprise  on  seeing  a  deer  swim 
ming  for  life  across  the  river  !  It  was  half  a  mile  above 

(60) 


THREE  AT  A  HAUL.  61 

them,  and  two-thirds  across ;  but  it  was  also  in  the 
swiftest  part  of  the  current,  was  beating  down  rapidly, 
and  making  little  headway. 

"  The  boys  dropped  their  rods  and  shoved  out  after  it. 
They  rowed  as  if  the  deuce  was  after  them.  The  deer 
perceived  them,  and  endeavored  to  change  its  course  up 
stream,  but  the  waves  were  too  powerful.  At  length, 
a  hundred  yards  this  side  of  the  shore,  they  came  up 
with  it.  It  struggled  furiously  to  escape — it  bleated 
piteously — the  tears  (or  the  spray)  coursed  down  its 
cheeks.  Sometimes  it  struck  upon  a  rock  or  bar,  when, 
in  its  desperation,  it  would  leap  and  plunge  with  blind 
activity.  Once  it  leaped  over  their  heads  to  the  other 
side  of  the  canoe.  Finally,  Fuquai  grasped  it  by  the 
ear,  thrusting  its  nostrils  beneath  the  water ;  at  the 
same  time  he  drew  his  knife  and  cut  its  throat.  Air  and 
bloody  froth  bubbled  up  to  the  surface — the  animal  was 
violently  convulsed,  and  floated  up  dead.  It  proved  to 
be  a  doe — its  udder  was  filled  with  milk. 

"  Ah !  I  observed  that  yawn  converted  into  a  shudder, 
Monsieur  L'E .  Attendez  ! 

"  As,  loaded  with  their  victim,  they  were  paddling 
slowly  back  towards  the  mill,  they  heard  a  feeble  bleat 
away  out  in  the  river,  scarcely  audible  in  the  roar  of  the 
shoals.  They  looked,  and  saw  a  spotted  fawn,  all  slen 
der  and  sleek  from  its  bath,  standing  knee-deep  on  an 
isolated  rock.  Its  large  eyes  had  a  wild  distressed  ex 
pression — it  was  seeking  for  its  dam. 

"  On  the  shore,  near  the  mill,  Charlie  McKiernon  had 
just  reined  up  his  panting  steed,  and  his  infuriated 
hounds  were  drawn  up  by  the  water,  howling  threaten 
ingly  over  the  shoals. 

«  Matthews  lifted  up  the  deer-mother  in  the  canoe, 
and  imitated  the  maternal  bleat.  The  fawn,  with  an 


62  THREE   AT  A  HAUL. 

impulse  that  you  can  understand,  dashed  at  once  into 
the  unfriendly  current,  and  swam  alongside  the  canoe 
before  it  comprehended  the  danger  that  awaited  it. 
Then  it  uttered  a  shrill  cry  of  terror,  and  for  several 
moments  swam  around  in  a  heedless  circle,  as  if  distract 
ed.  The  hounds  caught  the  cry,  and  howled  more  relent 
lessly  than  ever. 

"  Matthews  again  imitated  the  mother-call ;  and  the 
fawn — fond  fool — with  a  throb  of  its  heart  and  whole 
being,  leaped  wildly  out  of  the  water  into  his  arms, 
which  hugged  its  reeking  sides  with  the  inexorable  quick 
ness  of  a  steel-trap.  The  poor  fawn  bent  down  its  head, 
even  while  he  was  clasping  it,  and  smelt  of  the  gash  in 
its  mother's  throat :  when  Alfred,  who  had  been  feeling 
the  pulsations  of  its  neck,  suddenly  thrust  a  keen  blade 
into  its  jugular  vein.  The  small  deer  fell  down  in  the 
bottom  of  the  boat,  beside  the  doe,  and  after  a  few 
spasms,  gasped  its  last. 

"  I  have  not  finished  ! 

"  It  had  not  much  more  than  done  so,  when  they  saw 
a  heavy  body  plunge  from  a  precipice  into  the  stream 
below  them.  Immediately,  a — THIRD  deer,  yet  larger 
than  the  others  emerged,  to  clamber  up  on  the  remains 
of  an  old  fish-trap,  where  it  cautiously  and  daintily 
picked  its  way.  It  was  a  full  sized  buck,  haply  the 
progenitor  of  the  fawn,  aroused  by  the  barking  of  the 
dogs,  and  likewise  intending  to  cross  the  river. 

"With  a  shout  of  exultation,  the  boys  turned  their 
prow  down  stream  in  hot  pursuit.  The  deer  looked  back 
once — the  single  instance  in  which  it  ever  regarded 
them — and  took  at  once  to  the  centre  of  the  river,  swim 
ming  down  stream.  The  pursuers  redoubled  their  eiforts, 
and  seemed  to  fly  along  the  water.  They  did  not  shun 
the  roughest  channels  in  their  eagerness ;  they  shot 


THREE   AT   A    HAUL. 

through  rapids, — they  leaped  down  falls  and  cascades — 
their  glowing  eyes  fixed  upon  the  head  of  the  buck,  the 
only  part  of  it  visible. 

« Thus,  for  two  miles,  did  they  continue  the  chase, 
with  the  ardor  of  savages  on  the  fresh  scent  of  a  scalp ! 
At  last  they  overtook  the  deer — still,  it  regarded  them 
not,  but  swam  deeply,  silently,  and  perseveringly  on. 
They  struck  it  repeatedly  over  the  head  with  their  pad 
dles,  but,  apparently,  with  no  injury  to  it,  and  every  time 
they  suspended  their  oars  so  to  strike,  it  gained  upon 
them.  For  a  while  longer,  in  this  manner,  they  pro 
longed  the  pursuit,  the  boys  simply  oaring  with  all  their 
strength — the  deer  swimming  on,  swimming  on,  unheed 
ing  and  uncomplaining. 

"Fuquai,  however,  could  not  endure  such  resultless 
suspense.  Pulling  off  his  coat  and  boots  with  one  hand, 
while  the  other  was  tugging  at  the  oar,  he  armed  his 
mouth  with  a  big,  opened  knife,  and  jumped  into  the 
river.  An  extraordinary  exertion  bore  him  over  the 
buck's  back,  and,  throwing  his  arms  forward  under  the 
water,  he  gathered  the  fugitive  around  the  neck.  Hold 
ing  it  there  with  his  left  hand,  he  sawed  awhile  with  his 
invisible  right,  both  man  and  animal,  meantime,  still 
swimming  on. 

"  All  at  once  both  deer  and  man  sunk  out  of  Matthews's 
view.  The  surface  was  discolored  with  blood  ! 

"You  deceive  yourself — Fuquai  arose,  puffing  and 
exhausted,  it  is  true,  but  unhurt,  and  grasping  the  mo 
tionless  victim  with  his  left  hand,  the  fingers  of  which 
were  inserted  in  the  terrible  gash  which  had  taken  the 
life  of  the  magnificent  stag!" 

"Sacre!"  exclaimed  L'E ,  revolted  and  indig 
nant  ;  "  that  amiable  seeming  man,  the  editor  of  the 
5* 


64  THREE   AT    A   HAUL. 

FRANKLIN  DEMOCRAT  !  Fire-eater,  you  call  him ;  and 
that  d d  Fuquai,  they  are — " 

"  Ardent  lovers  of  venison,"  we  interrupted ;  "besides 
do  you  not  observe  that  Inkhorn  has  not  shaved  for  a 
week,  and  the  sanguinary  shadow  of  his  moustache  has 
imparted  a  scarlet  hue  to  his  phrases  !  Alfred  is  a  mer 
ciful  man,  now — though,  like  many  others  in  these  warm 
regions,  he  does  prefer  a  diet  of  a  high  temperature ; 
chacun  a  son  gout,  Monsieur.1" 

A  familiar  face  at  Placide's  Varieties  last  night  re 
called  this  locally  celebrated  chasse  de  Munchausen  ; 
we  can  imagine  its  prolongation  this  morning ! 


SKELETON  OF  THE  GREEN  MONSTER. 

IN  Havana,  the  Ravel  troupe  made  fifty-two  thousand 
dollars,  by  less  than  thirty-five  exhibitions.  Nightly,  in 
New  Orleans,  they  draw  houses  of  at  least  fourteen 
hundred,  dollars. 

Such  is  the  reward  of  their  extraordinary  activity  upon 
the  tight-rope,  the  tact  and  strength  displayed  in  their 
gymnastic  feats,  the  grace  of  their  dances,  and  the 
admirably  ingenious  contrivances  of  their  pantomimes. 

Of  their  pantomimes,  the  GREEN  MONSTER  seems  to 
be  a  favorite  with  the  public.  It  is  now  upon  the  boards. 
For  the  benefit  of  our  country  readers,  we  propose  giv 
ing  a  skeleton  of  this  pantomime. 

In  the  first  place,  the  orchestra  contributes  much  to 
the  success  of  the  piece.  It  performs  innumerable  airs 
during  the  representation,  which  serve  to  underscore 
those  speaking  gestures  of  the  actors  that  are  substituted 
for  words. 

To  proceed  with  the  dumb-show :  A  young  lady  ap 
pears  in  a  long  dress,  who  is  made  love  to  by  a  gentle 
man  in  striped  drawers,  with  spangles,  a  tin  sword  and 
a  mask.  The  Tin  Sword  is  a  particular  friend  of  a  cer 
tain  magician,  who  is  no  other  than  a  stock  actor,  wrap 
ped  in  a  sheet.  The  latter  waves  a  painted  stick,  and 
a  man  in  green  velvet  approaches,  who  has  wings  of 
twine,  which  he  waves  with  his  arms.  This  is  no  other 
than  the  Green  Monster  himself.  While  you  are  looking 
at  him,  he  fastens  a  rope  to  his  back,  and  an  invisible 
Irishman  in  the  second  story,  winds  him  up  nine  feet. 

(65) 


66       SKELETON  OF  THE  GREEN  MONSTER. 

Now  enters,  clad  in  blanched  linen,  with  flour  on  his 
face,  the  White  Knight,  who  manifests  a  disposition  to 
fight  somebody.  At  length,  an  individual  in  red  velvet 
accepts  his  challenge.  They  are  furnished  with  dull 
swords.  The  trombones  snort,  and  the  combatants  close, 
but  studiously  avoid  clashing  weapons ;  which  transmits 
a  smile,  like  a  ripple  of  light,  over  every  face  of  the 
spectators.  Clubs  replace  the  swords.  The  clubs  are 
composed  of  leather,  stuffed  with  wool.  A  tall  person 
in  silver  tissue,  with  a  moustache  pasted  on  his  lip,  comes 
forward  to  test  the  mime  in  flour.  The  mime  in  flour, 
the  exact  image  of  Dan  Rice,  affects  to  be  scared.  The 
lookers  on  manifest  much  hilarity  at  his  cowardice — they 
themselves  being  bravos  for  courage.  Silver  Tissue  gets 
a  rap  on  the  knuckles,  and  claps  his  finger  in  his  mouth  ; 
which  elicits  cheers.  Dan  Rice  is  tapped  gently  on  the 
head,  and  pretends  to  be  dreadfully  hurt ;  which  evokes 
a  storm  of  applause.  Tin  Sword  here  jumps  up  through 
a  trap-door  in  the  floor,  smacks  everybody  behind,  and, 
while  they  slap  their  hands  there,  and  turn  around  to 
see  who  threw  that  last  brick-bat,  leaps  through  a  sham 
clock-face,  upon  a  comfortable  feather-bed,  concealed  by 
the  scenery.  At  the  same  time,  the  Green  Monster  rolls 
out  of  a  false  opening  at  the  bottom  of  the  clock-case, 
and  all  rush  off  as  if  they  had  lost  their  wits. 

Dan  Rice  gets  into  a  cupboard,  but  out  of  the  back 
of  it  when  your  eyes  are  not  about  you,  Tin  Sword  being 
on  top  of  it,  squeezing  him  into  mush.  A  child  in 
stuffed  clothes  goes  into  the  cupboard  from  behind,  emerges 
from  the  front  of  it,  and  declares  by  signs  that  he 
is  the  White  Knight,  mashed  into  a  dumpling.  Nine 
out  of  ten  of  the  gazers  believe  his  story,  and  applaud 
the  child.  The  child  tries  to  kick  the  tall  Silver  Tissue, 
who  stands  beside  him  to  throw  him  into  the  shade  ;  and 


SKELETON  OF  THE  GREEN  MONSTER.       67 

the  risibility  of  the  ladies,  notwithstanding  they  are  in 
tiers  also,  is  decidedly  exhilarating.  The  child  finally 
wishes  to  be  rolled  out  into  the  flour  man  once  more, 
and  resume  his  natural  proportions.  A  doctor  without 
a  diploma  is  consulted,  and  recommends,  not  the  pills, 
but  the  box,  to  cure  the  case  of  dropsy.  The  box  is  a 
big  one,  and  is  laid  upon  the  fat  boy,  to  smooth  him  out. 
The  child  escapes  through  a  slit  in  the  scenery,  whereby 
the  White  Knight  slips  in,  the  box  is  lifted  up,  and, 
presto  !  there's  Dan  Rice  another  time  !  The  viewers, 
at  this,  create  a  dust  with  their  approbatory  feet. 

A  dun  colored  horse  comes  upon  the  stage,  pulling  a 
wagon.  Tin  Sword  exchanges  coats  with  the  driver, 
receives  his  sweetheart,  the  lady  in  long  skirts,  as  fare, 
(she  is  fair,)  lets  Dan  Rice  in  behind,  drives  off,  when 
the  lady  pulls  up  a  rivet,  the  wagon  breaks  in  two,  and 
the  White  Knight  would  have  been  killed,  had  he  not 
known  of  the  accident  beforehand,  and  caught  on  his 
hands.  There  is  an  earthquake  of  delight  from  the 
beholders  at  this  upset. 

The  flour  man  calls  for  something  to  eat.  A  table  is 
set,  having  strings  extending  from  it  to  the  side-scenes. 
Dan  takes  up  a  knife  to  begin,  and,  lo  !  the  chicken  and 
pig  are  wood,  the  strings  are  pulled,  they  work  their 
wings,  legs,  snouts  and  tails,  and  the  prompter  squeals. 
Rice  is  shocked ;  and  the  paying  ladies  and  gentlemen 
ravished.  The  White  Knight  endeavors  to  uncork  a 
bottle,  and  finds  it  filled  with  fourth-proof  rope.  The 
delirium  of  certain  Pantagruelians,  stiff  drinkers  and 
players  of  nine-pins,  at  this  surprise,  is  edifying. 

Silver  Tissue  once  more  is  visible,  goes  up  to  the  back 
scene,  backs  against  it,  and  some  supernumeraries  be 
hind  gather  up  his  legs,  holding  him  up  horizontally, 
with  his  face  fronting  you,  and  letting  drop  a  pair  of 


68       SKELETON  OF  THE  GREEN  MONSTER. 

artificial  legs,  open  like  the  leg-armor  of  the  ancients. 
Tin  Sword  dances  in,  and  with  a  hop,  step  and  jump, 
dives  through  Silver  Tissue's  bowels,  upon  the  feather 
bed,  as  usual.  Down  drop  Silver  Tissue's  legs,  into  the 
hollow  leg-cases,  and  he  walks  forward,  rubbing  his  hands 
(where  yours  by  pre-sympathy  are  already  clawing)  over 
his  stomach,  as  though  he  had  either  taken  the  cholera, 
or  the  most  drastic,  expeditious  pill  ever  sold  by  empiric. 
The  house  is  hereby  convulsed  (bating  the  sympathetic 
horror),  from  Sol  Smith,  the  manager,  himself,  down  to 
the  freshest  visitor.  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  We  shall  never  for 
get  that  astonished,  sick  look  of  Silver  Tissue's,  as  he 
rubbed  his  hands — 

There  is  a  balloon  ascension.  The  .balloon  is  a  flat 
circle  of  pasteboard,  and  the  gas  a  stout  pulley,  worked 
by  the  invisible,  sweet,  big  Irish  cherub  in  the  second 
story  aloft.  Tin  Sword  and  his  lady-love  go  up  four 
feet,  to  their  honey-moon,  wherein  (last  scene  of  all), 
they,  and  the  whole  of  the  performers,  appear  in  one  of 
the  most  magnificent  tableaux  we  ever  witnessed. 

But,  in  pantomimes  as  in  novels,  at  the  beginning  of 
the  honeymoon,  the  curtain  drops. 

So,  also,  dear  country  readers,  does  our  pen. 


BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT-OWL. 

OUR  country  readers  were  as  much  enlightened  as 
charmed  by  the  skeleton  of  the  Green  Monster,  as  per 
formed  by  the  celebrated  Havel  troupe,  which  we  gave 
them,  a  week  or  so  since,  and  have  written  to  us  "  to 
please  tell  them  some  more." 

We  witnessed  the  eighth  and  final  performance  of 
MAZULM,  OB,  THE  NIGHT-OWL,  and  propose  furnishing 
them  with  a  bird's-eye  view  of  that  excellent  ornitholo 
gical  pantomime. 

We  would  prelude,  that  our  attention  is  diverted  by 
the  remark  of  a  portly,  well-dressed,  frank-looking 
stranger  in  the  first  tier,  who  exclaims  on  entering  the 
Theatre,  about  the  time  we  do, 

"  Well,  I  want  to  see  them.  I  have  heard  of  them. 
But  I  want  to  see  them.  Look,  look,  look !" 

He  refers  to  the  opening  scene  of  the  comedy.  A 
lady  is  suddenly  and  unaccountably  stricken  ill.  Hyste 
rics  and  spasms.  Very  distressing.  She  drops  upon  a, 
chair.  Her  daughter  (really  her  sister-in-law)  takes  on 
dreadfully,  and  sheds  many  mock-tears.  A  man  in 
shorts,  supposed  to  be  rich  (he  has  had  many  benefits), 
runs  his  hand  over  his  face,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  I  am 
shaved,  and  adore  you."  The  daughter  glances  a  dis- 
cardal  at  him,  through  her  no-tears.  A  commonly 
appareled  fellow,  supposed  to  be  poor  (notwithstanding 
the  crowded  houses),  strokes  his  beard  also,  and  the 
daughter  presents  him  her  hand,  though  she  is  already 
married,  and  to  accept  him  actually,  would  be  bigamy. 

(69) 


70          BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  or  THE  NIGHT-OWL. 

The  spurious  mother,  a  young  lady  in  truth,  about  the 
age  of  her  imputed  daughter,  expires,  and  is  carried 
out  on  a  chair.  This  would  be  tragedy,  but  that  we  see 
the  corpse  through  the  side-scenes  afterwards,  smelling 
a  bouquet ;  so  it  is  comedy,  after  all. 

During  this  time  the  stranger  in  the  first  tier  is 
weeping. 

Next,  we  have  a  moonlight  cemetery,  the  sod  being 
the  stage,  the  tomb-stones  paper,  and  the  moon-light 
gaslight.  The  orchestra  strikes  up  an  air,  melancholy 
as  «  Old  Father  Grimes."  Pious  reminiscences  recur 
to  the  stranger.  The  "  daughter"  stands  drooping  beside 
her  « mother's"  grave.  Rich  man  in  shorts,  followed 
by  our  old  acquaintance,  the  mime  in  chalk,  comes  in, 
and  grasps  the  wrists  of  the  filial  lady.  Poor  man  in 
common  clothes  rushes  in  to  prevent  the  Roman  from 
bearing  off  the  Sabine.  Roman  in  shorts  has  a  long 
head,  and  escapes  with  the  lady.  The  poor  fellow  is 
left  to  despair.  But  the  trombone  blows  a  dismal  blast, 
and  the  Irishman  aloft  lets  down  a  small  owl  of  gilt 
paper  on  a  wire.  That  is  the  Night-Owl.  A  stock  actor, 
who  is  Mazulm,  hides  behind  the  owl,  says  he's  a  magi 
cian  (he  lies  there)  and  will  give  Poverty  a  magic  branch. 
The  magic  branch  is  a  piece  of  tin.  Poverty  flourishes 
his  tin  (of  which,  paradoxically,  he  has  had  a  good  deal) 
and  the  ghosts  of  the  dead  surround  him.  The  ghosts 
are  as  plump  as  "  the  phantom  of  her  frolic  grace — Fitz- 
Fulke,"  and  are,  indeed,  lovely  girls  with  sheets  wrapped 
around  them.  They  fail  to  inspire  the  stranger  with 
awe,  who  is  staring  at  their  stockings.  Bim  !  bim  !  goes 
the  drum.  Up  go  the  sheets  to  the  useful  Irishman 
aloft,  and,  behold,  the  prettiest  night-gowns  imaginable, 
in  the  shape  of  ball-dresses.  The  cemetery  is  pulled 
right  and  left,  and  the  scenery  is  changed  to  a  danc- 


BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT-OWL.  71 

ing  hall.  The  wick  of  the  gas-lamps  is  snuffed,  and  now 
there's  nothing  but  side-couples  forward  and  back  again, 
chassez,  cut  the  pidgeon  wing,  and  lemonade  all !  The 
stranger  exclaims,  "  Hooray  !"  half  rises  from  his  seat, 
and  sympathetically  shuffles.  The  fiddle  squeaks,  and 
Poverty,  much  of  his  tin  tinselling  his  clothes,  like  the 
New  Orleans  golden  stevedore,  bounces  into  the  room 
for  a  partner  also.  Behold  !  the  lovely  Sabine  !  She 
slips  out,  a  big  doll  is  substituted  for  her,  Poverty  lifts 
up  the  doll  in  his  arms,  and  dives  with  it  through  a  split 
portrait,  on  the  feather  bed  behind.  The  stranger  is  con 
vulsed  by  the  feat,  and  cries  at  the  top  of  his  voice, 
"  Oh-my-eyes !"  like  a  man  suffering  an  amputation. 
Between  the  stranger  in  the  rear  and  the  doll  in  front, 
the  audience  is  crushed  with  enjoyment. 

A  sham  street  is  introduced.  Shorts  and  Chalk  come 
in.  Chalk,  going  into  a  door,  bumps  his  head  against 
a  Cook's  coming  out  of  the  door.  Cook  smacks  Shorts 
and  Chalk  with  his  ladle.  Chalk  seizes  the  ladle,  and 
smacks  Cook's  caput.  Stranger  smiles.  Chalk  smacks 
Cook's  stomach.  Cruel  stranger  roars.  Chalk  smacks 
Cook  behind.  Stranger  tumbles  over  in  a  fit  of  merri 
ment.  Poverty  passes  by,  and  is  put  in  a  bag,  like  a 
cent  in  a  purse.  The  bag  is  opened,  and  Poverty  has 
vanished  through  a  trap-door.  Stranger  is  bewildered, 
and  asks,  "  Whar  is  he  !"  The  body  of  a  wooden  jack 
ass  on  the  shoulders  of  two  men  trots  forward.  Shorts 
gets  on  the  mane,  Chalk  on  the  crupper.  Jackass  breaks 
in  two,  Shorts  is  carried  out  like  Munchausen,  and  Chalk 
is  thrown.  Chalk  gathers  hold  of  the  tail,  like  the  witch 
in  Tarn  O'Shanter,  and  the  tail  is  pulled  out — a  dirty 
trick.  But  the  stranger  is  delighted.  Chalk  puts  the 
tail  to  his  nose,  and  the  stranger  shrieks  at  the  nastiness. 

Mime  in  shorts  and  mime  in  chalk  are  supposed  to  be 
6 


72  BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT-OWL. 

in  a  wood.  The  wood  is  canvass  and  paper,  painted. 
There  is  a  sign  in  the  form  of  an  angle,  with  "  To  Cadiz" 
written  on  both  limbs,  in  English,  for  the  Frenchmen. 
It  points  east,  they  start  east.  Prompter  draws  a  string, 
it  points  west,  they  start  west.  The  stranger  is  puzzled, 
but  amused.  Chalk  takes  off  his  hat,  Poverty  enters, 
snaps  a  percussion-cap,  and  down  drops  a  hat  on  Chalk's 
head.  The  stranger  is  astonished,  but,  when  the  mime 
goes  to  put  on  his  hat  and  finds  one  on,  the  stranger 
perceives  ,  the  joke,  and  welcomes  it  with  a  guffaw. 
Poverty  pitches  front  foremost  through  the  paper  tree, 
and  about  thirty  powder  squibs  are  touched  off.  All  the 
dry-land  dives  of  Poverty  tickle  the  stranger,  who  in 
voluntarily  ducks  his  knowledge-box  when  he  witnesses 
them.  But  the  fire-works!  His  eyes  brighten,  though 
his  nose  suffers.  He  sneezes,  laughs  and  admires — 
laughs,  admires  and  sneezes. 

Another  fictitious  street.  Beautiful  night  outside,  but 
storm  inside.  A  negro  makes  it,  turning  the  gas-cock, 
and  shaking  sheet  iron.  Shorts  and  Chalk  appear,  with 
an  umbrella.  They  touch  a  spring  in  the  handle,  and 
the  parasol  swallows  itself,  like  the  Kilkenny  cats. 
Poverty  shows  his  face,  and  is  chased  up-stairs.  Shorts 
and  Chalk  procure  a  ladder,  said  to  have  been  enchanted 
by  a  carpenter.  Shorts  ascends  to  the  top  round,  jerks 
a  string  and  slides  down.  The  stranger  applauds. 
Chalk,  with  much  ado,  ascends  to  the  top  round,  jerks 
a  string,  slides  down,  and  turns  a  summer-sault.  The 
stranger  boisterously  exults.  Chalk  steals  a  ginger  cake 
from  a  confectionary.  Instead  of  calling  the  police — 
several  being  in  the  theatre — the  shopkeeper  clamps  a 
wooden  lobster  to  Chalk's  jacket.  Chalk  eats,  and — 
jumps.  The  stranger  giggles.  Chalk  eats,  and — jumps 
again.  The  stranger  snorts.  Chalk  eats,  and  jumps, 


BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT-OWL.  73 

once  more.  The  stranger  can  hold  in  no  longer :  "  Oh 
— ha !  ha !  ha !  don't  you  feel  a  slight  nibble,  eh  ? — ha ! 
ha  f  ha !" 

Now  there's  a  restaurant,  with  five  daubs ;  a  catamount, 
two  dowdies,  a  hunter,  and  a  gormandizer  very  much 
like  the  theatrical  portraits  of  Shakspeare.  Chalk  and 
Shorts  enter.  The  catamount  raises  its  back  and  flashes 
its  eyes,  through  the  agency  of  a  concealed,  consumptive 
supernumerary,  who  has  fifty  cents  a-day  for  his  work. 
Chalk  pretends  to  be  surprised:  the  stranger  is.  One 
of  the  dowdies  squats  a  court'sy  to  Chalk.  Chalk  wipes 
some  flour  off  his  mouth  to  kiss  her.  Bang!  pops  a 
cracker  in  the  hunter's  gun.  Chalk  runs  off,  but  the 
other  dowdy  swings  around  on  a  pole  to  his  side.  Chalk 
winks  towards  the  stranger,  who  appreciates  the  tempt 
ation,  wipes  more  flour  off  his  mouth,  begins  to  kiss  her, 
when,  flip-flap !  the  board  on  which  the  dowdy  was 
daubed,  flies  open,  and  there's  a  raw-head-and-bloody- 
bones  !  Ugh!  exclaims  the  stranger;  but,  ashamed  of 
his  weakness,  tries  to  recover  himself  by  a  smile — the 
smile's  a  failure,  or  at  best,  a  sardonic  one.  The  gor 
mandizer  then  commences  work.  The  arm  of  the  picture 
is  a  man's,  and  the  lips  of  it  india-rubber.  Gormandizer 
gulps  the  rolls  like  pills,  rams  the  plates  down  his  throat, 
next  the  table-cloth,  next  Chalk's  cap,  finally  Chalk's 
arm.  "May  I,"  objurgates  the  stranger, — "May  I — 
ha  !  ha !  ha ! — may  I  be  for  ever  and  ever — ho  !  ho !  ho ! 
— for  ever  and  ever,  eternally — he  !  he  !  he ! — eternally" 
— imprecated — "hi !  hi !  he  !  he  !  ho  !  ho  !  ha !  ha  ! — if  I 
ever  saw  SUCH  an  appetite!!" — not  reflecting  that  all 
the  rear  of  the  stage  was  Gormandizer's  stomach.  A 
gun  is  fired,  and  knocks  off  a  leather  head  from  a  mime 
who  has  his  own  hidden  from  view.  The  stranger  is 
shocked,  but  then — you  know  the  effect  of  public  cap-ital 


74          BIRD'S-EYE  VIEW  OF  THE  NIGHT-OWL. 

punishments.  The  stranger  deliriously  dances  over  the 
severed  head,  like  a  son  of  Herodias. 

There's  the  devil  to  play,  next.  Pandemonium  is 
presented  to  us  in  daguerreotype.  Ugly  figures  on  cloth, 
illuminated  by  burning  alcohol  dashed  with  iodine.  The 
stranger's  pious  reminiscences  recur  again.  His  physi 
ognomy  prolongs  itself.  He  hums,  "  Oh !  how  happy 
are  they,  Who  the  good  book  obey — bey,  bey,  bey ;  Who, 
the,  good,  book,  obey  /" 

The  last  scene  of  this  strange,  eventful  history,  is  the 
Abode  of  the  Planets,  or  the  temporary  elevation  of  the 
ballet-stars.  It  is  the  most  rnagnificient  tableau  we  ever 
beheld,  Poetry  could  alone  have  inspired  it.  Lovely, 
graceful  girls !  We  smile  at  your  pantomimes,  because 
they  make  us  smile ;  but  our  satire  is  "kin  to  charity." 
Who  could  look  at  your  beautiful  groupings  and  divine 
limbs,  and  not  wish  you  kindly !  Note  the  expression 
on  the  countenance,  even  of  that  stranger — you  heard 
his  uproarious  mirth  on  Thursday  night  ?  Positively, 
your  last  scene  has  refined  it.  He  is  the  embodiment — 
0  enchanting  houris! — of  a  Greenhorn  in  Paradise. 
Respectful,  amazed,  awed,  rapt,  he  contemplated  your 
gossamer  gauzes.  No  more  laughter — no  more  noise — 
he  is  henceforth  A  POET. 

The  curtain  slowly  falls. 

"Well!"  exclaimed  the  stranger,  with  a  long-drawn 
suspiration — "I  had  heard  of  'em ;  but  I  wanted  to  see 
'em.  Well — gents, — I  have.  I  HAVE  SEEN  'EM — I 

HAVE  SEEN  'EM." 

Do  you,  dear  country  readers,  come  and  do  likewise. 


THE  LOST  CHILD. 

WE  first  heard  the  drum  in  Mysterious  street.  What 
it  meant,  we  did  not  ascertain.  Perhaps  some  military 
company  parading  its  new  uniform  in  the  sun.  It  is  a 
sound  common  enough  in  New  Orleans,  however. 

In  History  street,  we  heard  the  drum  again,  several 
days  after. 

A  plainly  clad  old  man,  who  wore  a  shabby  white  hat, 
and  had  a  pair  of  cracked  spectacles  astride  of  his  nose, 
was  beating  it.  He  would  beat  a  brief  roll,  then  three 
or  four  quick  taps,  and  cry — 

«  Lost  child  !     Lost  child  !" 

Men  were  generally  away,  in  their  offices,  or  upon 
the  levee,  attending  to  business.  But  women,  their 
toddling  offspring,  and  servants,  would  appear  at  the 
windows  of  the  houses,  or  come  to  the  doors,  or  step  out 
on  the  verandas.  A  few  would  linger  awhile,  listening 
to  what  the  old  man  might  say,  not  asking  any  ques 
tions.  The  rest,  little  interested,  would  soon  retire,  or 
disappear.  Their  children  were  at  home,  or  at  school, 
well,  and  beautiful ! 

"Lost  child!"  cried  the  old  man,  tapping  his  drum 
with  one  hand  and  adjusting  his  spectacles  with  the 
other,  as  he  turned  the  corner.  "  A  very  pretty  boy. 
Eleven  years  old.  Deaf  and  dumb.  Sharp,  bright 
black  eyes  ;  and  spells  with  his  fingers.  Italian.  Wan 
dered  away  from  Good  Children  street,  two  weeks  since. 
Mother,  a  poor,  lone  widow.  An  only  child,  and  lost ! 
Lost  child  !  Lost  child  !" 

6*  (75) 


76  THE   LOST   CHILD. 

No  dead  march  ever  sounded  sadder  in  our  ears. 

But  drays,  omnibuses,  cars  and  carriages,  rushing 
along  the  thoroughfares,  drowned  the  notes  of  the 
drum  and  the  old  man's  voice. 

In  Love  street,  still  several  days  after,  once  more  we 
encountered  the  old  man.  Same  roll,  and  taps,  and  cry. 
Another  man  passed  by,  who  seemed  to  know  the  drum 
mer.  The  other  man  looked  surprised,  and  was  smiling 
rather  sarcastically.  As  we  loitered,  we  gathered  more 
of  the  story  than  we  had  yet  learned. 

"  She's  a  neighbor  of  mine,  and  has  no  acquaintances. 
She  has  just  reached  the  United  States.  Her  husband 
died  at  sea.  They  have  seen  better  times,  but  he  was 
a  republican,  I  believe,  and  the  French  plundered  him 
in  Rome.  He  had  to  fly  for  his  life,  but  died  at  sea. 
I  liked  the  child.  He  was  excellent  in  pantomime; 
besides,  he  could  spell  with  his  fingers,  and  I  could 
understand  him,  especially  his  gestures.  Then  his  sharp, 
bright  black  eyes  fairly  talked  of  themselves.  He  was 
often  in  my  fruit  store,  and  I  was  teaching  him  English 
by  giving  him  things,  after  he  spelled  them  on  his 
fingers.  I  can't  say  which  were  his  favorites,  oranges 
or  olives,  though  he  was  fond  of  figs,  all  Italian  fruits. 
His  fingers  skipped  from  letter  to  letter  when  he  spelled 
them,  as  if  he  was  playing  upon  a  piano.  Oh,  he  was 
amusing  to  me,  dear,  lost  Giuseppe !  Giuseppe  Lioni. 
So  he  was  called.  More  than  two  weeks  since,  he 
wandered  away  from  Good  Children  street.  I  am  too 
indigent  to  employ  any  one  to  search  for  him.  My  wife, 
who,  having  no  child  of  her  own,  had  taken  as  lively  a 
fancy  for  Giuseppe  as  I,  urged  me  to  go.  'He  will 
recognize  you,'  said  my  wife,  a  sensible  female.  She 
keeps  shop  in  my  absence.  You  havn't  heard  of  a  stray 
boy  anywhere,  have  you  ?" 


THE   LOST   CHILD.  77 

The  other  man,  who  had  ceased  to  smile  sarcastically, 
shook  his  head.  No.  Then  he  shook  the  old  man's 
hand,  and  walked  slowly  down  the  street. 

All  this  time  a  woman  was  standing  not  far  off,  almost 
piercing  the  two  men  with  her  dark  eyes.  She  was 
dressed  in  mourning.  The  sable  veil  she  wore  was  thrown 
aside  from  her  face  as  she  gazed  upon  the  speakers,  and 
we  imagined  for  an  instant,  from  her  expression,  that 
she  was  angry.  She  was  distressed.  The  old  man, 
noticing  her  look  of  solicitous,  anxious  inquiry,  shook 
his  head  in  his  turn.  The  woman  shrunk  back  with  a 
staggering  step,  and  the  veil  dropped  over  her  pale  fea 
tures.  The  old  man  took  off  his  spectacles,  wiped  them 
on  his  sleeve,  re-adjusted  them,  struck  his  drum,  more 
carelessly,  as  it  were,  than  before,  and  resumed  the 
familiar  cry — 

"Lost  child!  Lost  child!  A  very  pretty  boy. 
Eleven  years  old.  Deaf  and  dumb.  Sharp,  bright  black 
eyes,  and  spells  with  his  fingers.  Italian.  Wandered 
away  from  Good  Children  street  three  weeks  since. 
Mother  a  poor,  lone  widow.  An  only  child,  and  lost! 
Lost  child!  Lost  child!" 

In  Painters  street — in  Trifle  street — in  Force  street 
— in  Genius  street — in  Music  street — in  Morales  street 
— in  Religious  street — in  Nuns  street,  we  heard  the 
drum  and  cry. 

In  Great  Men  street,  we  last  met  with  the  old  drum 
mer.  One  month  had  elapsed.  Nevertheless,  he  con 
tinued  his  kind  search,  the  woman  in  mourning,  her 
features  paler  than  ever,  following  at  a  short  distance. 

"Not  found  the  little  boy  yet?"  pausing,  we  asked. 

"Alas,  no,  sir,"  answered  the  old  man.  "I  have 
been  seeking  for  him  over  the  city  for  a  month.  People 
told  me,  it  was  no  use.  But  he  was  a  very  pretty  boy. 


78  THE  LOST   CHILD. 

Eleven  years  old.  Deaf  and  dumb.  And  harder  to 
find  than  other  stray  boys  of  course.  He  spelled  with 
his  fingers,  but  Italian  words — he  was  an  Italian,  sir, — 
except  oranges,  olives  and  figs,  which  I  taught  him.  He 
had  sharp,  bright  black  eyes.  His  mother  is  a  poor 
lone  widow,  living  in  Good  Children  street.  But  all 
this  fortnight  she  has  been  following  me.  There  she  is, 
sir.  She  is  his  mother." 

The  woman  in  mourning — the  mother — drew  nearer, 
piercing  us  with  her  dark  eyes.  Tearless  eyes,  shining 
with  the  lustre  of  the  despairing  love  of  a  woman,  for 
the  imperfectly  endowed,  but  therefore  doubly  endeared, 
offspring  of  her  womb,  wandering  so  long,  and,  per 
chance,  still  wandering,  bewildered,  speechless,  and  with 
unheeding  ears,  away  from  the  warm  enfoldings  of  her 
arms. 

"We  have  concluded  to  search  for  him  no  more,  after 
to-day,"  said  the  old  drummer.  "  Dear  Giuseppe  !  He 
must  have  been  run  over,  or  drowned,  having  only  his 
fingers  to  call  for  help,  though  it  was  a  pleasant  sight  to 
see  him  spelling  with  them.  If  you  should  chance  to 
hear  of  a  stray  boy  anywhere,  will  you  please  inform 
me  or  my  wife,  at  the  fruit  store  on  Good  Children 
street,  where  we  are  neighbors  to  Giuseppe's  mother  ?" 

Neighbors,  in  truth  and  in  deed. 

We  promised. 


"  He  was  moved  into  this  ward  last  night,  sir,  as  being 
less  crowded.  He  was  brought  into  the  hospital,  half- 
starved  and  with  a  burning  fever,  three  weeks  ago.  He 
has  never  spoken  a  word.  He  is  a  pretty  little  boy, 
about  eleven  years  of  age.  It  seems  to  be  a  hopeless 
case,  sir,"  said  the  nurse,  yesterday,  as  we  paid  our 


THE    LOST    CHILD.  79 

usual  morning  visit  to  the  ward  in  the  Charity  Hospital, 
which  the  kindness  of  the  surgeon-in-chief  has  assigned 
to  our  care. 

We  approached  the  bedside.  The  sharp,  bright  black 
eyes  lighting  up  the  pinched  and  wasted  features,  and 
the  continued  peculiar  motions  of  his  fingers,  confirmed 
our  suspicion.  In  seasons  past,  we  had  studied  the 
digital  alphabet  of  the  deaf  and  dumb.  We  framed  his 
name — Giuseppe  ? 

"  Si,  si — yes,  yes  !"  the  blanched,  wan  hand  of  the 
boy  made  quick  reply.  "Ho  male  a  un  lato — I  have 
such  a  pain  in  my  side." 

We  felt  the  pulse  of  the  lad.  It  was  a  feeble  thread, 
vibrating  irregularly.  He  breathed  with  difficulty.  He 
was  sinking  rapidly. 

"A  chi  pensa  Ella — whom  are  you  thinking  of, 
Giuseppe?" 

«  La  mia  madre — my  mother  !" 

We  complied  with  our  promise,  sending  word  to  the 
fruiterer  on  Good  Children  street,  that  the  lost  Giuseppe 
was  found. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  child's  mother  came.  At  length 
tears  began  to  flow,  and  exclaiming,  "  Mio  figlio — 0  la 
pieta,  la  pieta ! — My  son — 0  the  pity,  the  pity  !"  she 
pressed  him  to  her  breast. 

The  fruiterer  and  his  wife  came  also,  bringing  a 
basket  filled  with  the  child's  favorite  fruits. 

"  Quanta  gente — how  many  people  !"  said  the  poor 
boy,  looking  happy,  but  moving  his  fingers  more  and 
more  languidly. 

We  touched  his  wrist  again.  The  breath  of  life, 
whose  gentle  vibrations  stir  the  small  vessel  beneath  the 
physician's  slight  pressure,  was  fast  lulling  into  the  calm 
of — death ;  and  the  tiny  strokes  of  the  pulse  had  ceased. 


80  THE    LOST    CHILD. 

Giuseppe  glanced  from  his  mother  towards  us.  « II 
medico,"  he  said,  slowly — «  quanto  e  buono — How  good 
you  are." 

"  Abbiamo  tutti  da  morire — there  is  a  time  appointed 
unto  us  all,  to  die,"  we  said. 

Then,  in  his  beautiful  language,  whether  of  words  or 
signs,  he  bravely  replied,  with  a  sentiment  worthy  of 
one  much  older — often  stopping,  in  his  mechanical 
weariness,  but  looking  manfully  resigned  out  of  his 
sharp,  bright  black  eyes  when  he  stopped,  "  Ora  poiche 
Dio  mi  ha  fatto  tanto  grazia,  lo  morro  contento — I  shall 
be  content  to  die" — and  he  clasped  his  weeping  mother's 
hand — "  since  God  has  granted  me  so  much  grace." 

A  moment  after,  returning  his  parent's  kiss,  he  spelled 
upon  his  fingers  the  word,  "Addio,"  at  once  full  of 
human  affection  and  expressive  of  reliance  upon  Deity ; 
and  as  he  framed  the  last  letter,  expired. 

A  Sister  conducted  the  heart-broken  mother  to  the 
apartment  of  the  order.  The  corpse  was  not  immedi 
ately  removed,  but  other  Sisters  laid  it  out  on  clean, 
white  linen,  in  the  ward.  The  fruiterer  and  his  wife  placed 
an  orange  or  two,  some  flowers  and  some  twigs  of  arbor 
vitae,  beside  it.  The  neighboring  patients  crawled  from 
their  beds  to  look  at  it,  where  it  lay,  like  an  empty  but 
beautiful  casket,  on  the  couch  spread  for  it  by  Charity. 

Even  then,  the  soul  of  Giuseppe  was  in  Paradise,  that 
kingdom  whose  inhabitants  are  pure  as  children,  and 
where  Christ,  the  child-lover,  already  had  unstopped  the 
ears  which  had  heard  no  discord,  to  listen  to  the  har 
monies  of  saints,  and  loosed  the  tongue  which  had  spoken 
no  evil,  to  utter  forth  His  praise  and  its  joy. 


THE  DROMIO  THOMPSONS: 


There  were  two  of  them : 
JACOB     ^ 
and         v  Thompson. 

JOSEPH     j 

They  were  not  related — had  never  seen  each  other 
except  in  the  calaboose  last  night — and  were  arrested 
under  separate  charges. 

The  Tartars  make  their  steaks  by  riding  upon  their 
beef,  interposed  saddle  fashion,  between  their  own  flesh 
and  their  horse-flesh.  Last  night,  Joseph  Thompson, 
very  much  inebriated,  was  taken  up  for  lying  down  in 
the  meat  market,  of  the  Second  District,  and  not  riding 
upon  a  steak,  but  converting  a  piece  of  "  roast"  into  a 
pillow. 

This  morning,  before  daylight,  also  in  the  Second 
District,  Jacob  Thompson  was  arrested  for  attempting 
to  "  bag"  six  sacks  of  potatoes. 

And  the  two  synonyms,  Jacob  and  Joseph,  were  put 
together  in  the  common  lock-up,  at  the  guardhouse. 

Jacob,  justly  apprehending  that  he  stood  an  excellent 
chance  of  being  sacked  for  his  potato-theft,  began  to 
exercise  his  wits  in  devising  a  means  of  escape.  Ascer 
taining  the  trifling  charge  preferred  against  his  name 
sake,  Joseph,  and  perceiving  that  Joseph  had  not  wholly 
recovered  from  his  "  cups"  of  the  night  previous,  the 
brilliant  idea  occurred  to  Jacob  (a  rogue  since  the  era 

(81) 


82  THE    DROMIO    THOMPSONS. 

of  the  Pharaohs),  to  put  Joseph's  cups  into  his  sacks — 
in  plainer  terms,  to  answer  for  Joseph,  personify  Joseph, 
acknowledge  Joseph's  minor  offence,  and  (exquisite  cli 
max  !)  DO  another  Joseph  in  the  person  of  his  honor, 
Recorder  Joseph  G-enois  himself! 

The  prisoners  were  brought  forward, — Jacoh  as  keen 
as  when  he  diddled  that  stupid  gourmand,  Esau,  and 
Joseph  as  far  down  in  the  mouth  as  when  his  brethren 
cast  him  into  the  well. 

Recorder :  Joseph  Thompson,  step  up  here. 

Joseph  pricked  up  his  ears,  but  was  rather  too  maud 
lin  yet  to  comprehend, matters  clearly. 

Jacob,  the  thief,  however,  very  briskly  came  up  in 
Joseph's  place. 

Recorder :  You  stand  charged  with  being  drunk  last 
night,  and  sleeping  in  the  market-house. 

Jacob,  the  villain  (snivelling) :  Yes,  your  honor,  I 
am  sorry  for  it.  Please,  your  honor,  let  me  off  this 
time,  and  I'll  never  do  so  no  more.  I'll  sign  the  pledge, 
your  honor. 

Recorder,  benevolently :  Well,  on  condition  that  you 
sign  the  pledge,  I'll  let  you  off.  You  can  go,  Joseph. 

Jacob,  bowing  low,  exits,  and  when  he  gets  to  the  side 
scenes  at  the  door,  scampers  like  a  quarter  horse. 

Recorder :  Now  for  Jacob  Thompson.  You,  man 
there,  come  up  here. 

Joseph  staggers  up. 

Recorder,  frowning  parish  prisons :  You  are  charged 
with  stealing  six  sacks  of  potatoes  in  the  market  this 
morning,  Jacob  Thompson. 

Joseph  Thompson:  "Joseph,"  begging  your  honor's 
pardon. 

Recorder  :  «  Joseph  !" 

Joseph,  only  thinking  he  has    offended   his    honor : 


THE    DROMIO   THOMPSONS.  83 

Please,  sir,  I  was  drunk,  last  night,  and  dropped  asleep 
in  the  market. 

Recorder,  shocked  at  the  trick  he  suspects :  Stop ! 
One  word.  Did  you  steal  any  potatoes  ?  Is  your  name 
Joseph,  Jacob,  Abraham,  Judas — or  what  the  devil  is  it? 
Were  you  drunk  last  night  ? 

Confusion  worse  confounded  reigns  in  court.  At 
length  the  clerk,  Mr.  Bozonier,  discovers  the  "mistake." 
Jacob  had  pretended  to  be  Joseph!  A  posse  of  police- 
officers  are  instantly  detailed,  and  chase  the  flying 
patriarch. 

An  exciting  pursuit  and  hulli-bulloo  ! 

The  wheels  of  the  court  stalled  for  some  minutes  ! 

Finally,  Jacob  is  brought  back  again.  He  receives 
the  Recorder's  blessing  for  "  uttering  a  forgery,"  and 
Joseph,  the  persecuted,  "  sold"  Joseph,  is  released,  with 
a  subscription  of  six-pence  from  every  compassionate 
functionary  who  attends  the  morning  levees  of  his  honor, 
Recorder  Joseph  Genois. 


THE  NEW  ORLEANS  DUTCH  GARDENS. 

FROGS  and  the  rapier  maybe  characteristic  of  France, 
garlic  and  silver  stirrups  of  Spain,  figs  and  trills  of  Italy, 
potatoes  and  patriotism  of  Ireland,  porter  and  conceit 
of  England,  oats  and  caution  of  Scotland — but  beer  and 
the  waltz  reign  over  Germany!  The  Teuton  believes 
that  the  world  is  a  kreisel — a  whirligig — and  he  turns 
with  it  about  the  sun.  And  the  moon  revolves  around 
the  earth,  and  Teufelsdrock  revolves  on  his  own  heels. 
The  seasons  come  in  a  round — Spring  with  her  budding 
breast — Summer  with  her  ripened  charms,  "  all  too  full 
for  puritanic  stays" — Autumn,  the  maternal — and  Win 
ter,  a  graylock  crone  with  wheezing  breath,  but  giddily 
attached  to  the  teototum  dance ;  and  der  Herr  waltzes 
with  the  circling  year.  Glorious  waltz  !  thou,  like  music, 
wast  stolen  from  the  spheres,  and  all  nature  proclaims 
thee!  Byron,  le  diable  boiteux,  satirically  sung  thy 
praise,  but  the  kindly,  phlegmatic  Dutchlander  alone 
enjoys  thee.  All  other  nations  thou  dost  coquet  with, 
but  on  the  bosom  of  his  thou  reposest  like  a  wife ! 
i  Such  were  our  meditations  on  visiting  the  two  German 
gardens  on  the  Old  Basin,  beyond  the  cemeteries,  on 
Sunday  evening  last.  The  "  National"  and  the  "  Tivoli" 
are  their  several  designations.  The  latter  is  perhaps 
the  finer  of  the  two,  certainly  the  more  aristocratic,  as 
you  pay  a  dime  admission  fee.  Within  the  enclosure 
both  are  laid  out  alike :  A  large  yard  shaded  by  trees, 
under  which  are  numerous  little  rustic  tables  and  benches, 

(84) 


THE   NEW   ORLEANS   DUTCH   GARDENS.  85 

separated  by  short  intervals,  and  capable  of  accommoda 
ting  two  couples  each ;  lamp-posts  interspersed ;  shell- 
walks  ;  a  bar  with  strong  liquors  and  warm  water  at  one 
extremity ;  beer-men  with  large  baskets  filled  with  beer 
jugs,  which  pop  like  champagne  bottles,  and  emit  a 
frothy,  yellow  fluid,  that  will  make  you  sleep  before  it 
makes  you  tipsy,  and  in  the  centre  the  dance  house — a 
circular  building,  the  flooring  surrounded  by  a  balustrade, 
with  a  single  door,  and,  elevated  on  a  platform,  an  or 
chestra  of  a  dozen  brazen  instruments.  The  stars  and 
stripes  float  in  the  breeze,  above  the  whole.  Such  is  a 
description  of  the  gardens. 

Five  cents  is  paid  by  each  male  partner  for  the  privi 
lege  of  one  waltz,  which  occupies  nearly  ten  minutes: 
the  frauen  paying  nothing,  heaven  bless  them !     Often, 
as  many  as  twenty  couples  are  whirling  around  at  one 
time.     Strangers,  and  mere  spectators,  crowd  outside 
of  the   balustrade,  gazing  listlessly  upon  the  waltzers. 
The  Germans  proper,  not  engaged  in.  the   dance,  are 
seated  upon   the   diminutive  benches  under  the  trees, 
gargling  gutturals  and  beer.     The  good  Almains  are  not 
the  slimmest  people  in  the  world,  that  is  a  fact;  but  their 
large  broad  features  only  furnish  the  more  canvass  for 
incomparable  pictures  of  amiability — if  it  is  a  little  too 
sleepy-looking.     They  are   the   quietest,  happiest  folks 
in  the  world.     How  indifferent  to  observation  they  are  ! 
You  can  go  up  and  inspect  them  closely — incapable  of 
impertinence  themselves,  they  never  suspect  you  of  it. 
It  is  a  tribe  of  human  beings  remarkably  free  of  tatlers, 
gossips   and  satirists,  and  very  slightly  influenced  by 
malicious  motives.     Meaning  no  more  offence  than  when 
we  apply  the  term  "Bull"  to  an  Englishman — they  are 
the  Dray-horses  of  mankind.     It  is  they  who  do  the  hard 
work  and  heavy  pulling  in  the  mines  of  learning,  as  well 


86      THE  NEW  ORLEANS  DUTCH  GARDENS. 

as  in  physical  fields.  They  have  the  patience,  slow  in 
dustry,  enduring  strength,  and  harmless  temper  of  that 
noble  animal — which,  of  course,  when  it  does  kick  up, 
plays  the  devil. 

There  is  less  association  of  improper  ideas  in  a  beer 
drinker's  embrace  than  in  anybody  else's.  Thus,  you 
see  the  vrow,  in  the  waltz,  actually  reposing  on  the  breast 
of  her  partner,  one  hand  over  his  shoulder,  clasping  the 
other  over  his  waist,  while  his  arms  are  hugging  her  as 
closely ;  but  you  don't  see  the  least  harm.  We  noticed 
several  pairs  whose  cheeks,  in  addition,  rested  against 
each  other.  This  we  thought  to  condemn,  until,  on 
clearer  observation,  we  discovered  that  Mynheer  was 
certainly  asleep,  and  Fraulien  would  have  been  so  too, 
for  her  eyes  were  also  shut,  but  that  the  India-rubber 
she  was  chewing  occasionally  aroused  her  on  the  verge 
of  strangulation ;  meantime,  they  were  waltzing  instinct 
ively,  and  in  perfect  keeping  with  the  music — tira  li  la, 
tira  li  la,  la,  la! 

The  temperature  of  the  dance-house  is  two-fold.  In 
that  region  which  is  occupied  by  the  aforesaid  cheeks  and 
faces,  it  makes  itself  devilishly  warm,  as  Monsieur  says; 
we  should  put  it  at  96  deg.  We  judge  from  the  flushed 
complexions  and  the  streams  of  perspiration  which  shower 
from  the  spinning  brows  down  on  the  floor.  Sanctorius's 
scales  would  show  that  each  party,  after  ten  minutes' 
waltzing,  had  lost  two  pounds  weight.  The  yellow  be 
verage,  however,  is  itself  diaphoretic.  Medical  gentle 
men  might  prescribe  these  Sabbath  potations  and  gym 
nastics  in  certain  cases.  The  other  latitude  is  the  ether, 
or  sphere,  to  adopt  an  expression  of  Swedenborg,  in 
which  the  skirts  of  the  petticoat  revolve.  There,  the 
weather  is  cool,  breezy,  gusty,  and  sometimes  squally. 
The  substantial  masts  from  which  the  linen  fluttered 


THE  NEW  ORLEANS  DUTCH  GARDENS.      87 

like  sails  in  a  gale,  seemed  sufficiently  able  to  secure  the 
broad  bottoms  from  a  capsize,  nevertheless. 

When  the  music  suddenly  ceases,  for  a  brief  recess, 
during  which  the  hot  trombone  breathes  like  a  grampus, 
the  waltzers  stop  with  a  stagger,  look  about  with  a  be 
wildered  air,  as  much  as  to  ask — "  Is  our  five  cents' 
worth  of  delirium  over  ?" — smile,  and  repairing  to  the 
benches,  order  a  glass  of  beer  in  astonishingly  consonant 
phraseology.  Ach  Grott !  Prosperity  to  the  gardens ! 


INTERVENTION--PRACTICALLY 
ILLUSTRATED. 

A  EATHER  finely-dressed,  but  awkward-looking,  mild- 
spoken,  timid  young  gentleman,  evidently  on  his  first 
visit  to  New  Orleans,  was  walking  along  Carondelet 
street,  late  last  evening,  just  after  the  breaking  up  of 
the  theatres.  He  had  stopped  by  the  way  at  an  oyster 
saloon,  and  braced  his  energies,  exhausted  by  laughter 
at  De  Bar's  drollery ;  and  his  tacking  footsteps  indicated 
that  he  had  washed  the  mollusks  down  with  something 
stronger  than  their  native  fluid. 

Perhaps  it  was  in  the  saloon  that  the  mild  young 
gentleman  attracted  the  attention  of  the  familiar,  frank, 
respectable-looking  middle-aged  gentleman,  who  followed 
him  at  a  gradually  accelerated  pace,  until,  in  a  quiet, 
lonely  part  of  the  street,  the  latter  ranged  up  gently 
alongside  of  the  other.  There  was  no  shock — not  the 
slightest  jar — not  the  most  trivial  ripple  on  their  collision. 
The  tyro  surveyed  the  middle-aged,  frank  man — dream 
ily,  as  one  slowly  awakening  out  of  that  heavier  sort  ef 
reverie,  with  which  a  weak  stomach  charged  with  ale, 
tenants  the  vacant  chambers  of  a  weaker  brain.  For 
several  moments  the  twain  promenaded  placidly  side  by 
side.  Tyro  was  palpably  pleased  by  the  benevolent, 
gentlemanly  physiognomy  of  the  middle-aged  man  of 
respectability,  and  his  own  blankish  countenance  involun 
tarily  expanded  into  a  smile.  Respectability's  face  of 
frankness  beamed  with  a  reciprocal  lustre.  Simplicity 

(88) 


INTERVENTION.  89 

chuckled,  only  his  chuckle  was  converted  from  a  tenor 
to  a  bass  by  the  intervention  of  a  hiccough.  At  length, 
Respectability  reassured  himself. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  esteemed  sir,  where  Girod  street 
is  ?"  he  asked,  gravely  polite. 

"  Why,  n-no — yes  !  I  remember.  I — I  (hiccough) 
will  go  with  you  there,  if  you  don't  object,"  replied  Sim 
plicity,  with  a  tipsy  good-nature  that  should  have  con 
ciliated  his  blushing  guardian  angel. 

"  On  the  contrary,  sir,  your  society  will  heighten  my 
sense  of  obligation  for  your  kindness.  I  am  prepos 
sessed  by  you.  Will  you  honor  me  by  taking  my  arm  ?" 
said  the  polished  middle-aged  man. 

The  young  gentleman  was  charmed.  His  verdancy 
deepened  to  an  emerald  intensity  and  transparency.  He 
was  genially  loquacious.  How  communicative  he  be 
came  !  And  the  other  ?  Oh,  he  waxed  almost  rejuve 
nescent.  He  murmered  in  the  ear  of  his  companion 
like  a  pleasant,  fresh  spring-brook,  laughingly  diving 
into  a  grotto. 

At  this  agreeable  point  of  time,  a  well-filled  pocket 
book,  skipping  along  the  pave,  checked  its  revolutions 
between  the  feet  of  the  tyro.  A  badly-dressed,  sus 
picious,  stupid-looking  individual,  running  up  behind 
them,  stooped,  and  securing  the  porte  monnaie,  started 
off.  Respectability  nudged  Simplicity's  elbow. 

"Did  you  observe  that  dull  rogue?"  inquired  R. 
"  Tisn't  his  money — the  owner  will  never  get  it  again, 
unless  we  interfere.  Some  unfortunate  stranger  has 
lost  it, — perhaps  an  acquaintance  of  ours.  What  do 
you  say,  my  dear  friend  ?" 

The  dirty  fellow  slackened  his  pace. 

"But  didn't  he  find  it?"  demanded  S. 


90  INTERVENTION. 

"  To  be  sure — but  we  trod  on  it  as  we  passed — we  saw 
it  first ;  and  this  rascal  snatched  it  up  from  us !" 

"Dang  it!"  exclaimed  S.,  the  down  on  his  oath, — 
"let's  knock  him  over  and  take  it  from  him." 

"No,  that  would  be  an  assault.  We  can  get  it  from 
him  with  his  consent.  A  trifle  will  satisfy  him.  We 
will  then  advertise  the  book,  and  the  happy  owner  will 
doubly  compensate  us.  Should  he  not  turn  up,  the  purse, 
which  is  a  full  one,  will  legitimately  revert  to  us.  Sur 
veying  the  transaction  in  both  aspects, — moral  and 
pecuniary, — I  cannot  withhold  my  approbation." 

Respectability  said  this  with  an  air  that  would  have 
perfumed  Judas  with  sanctity. 

The  dirty  man  could  not  resist  the  respectable  man. 
He  surrendered  the  pocket-book.  The  middle-aged  man 
having  unfortunately  left  his  purse  at  his  lodgings,  the 
young  man  furnished  the  reward — twenty  dollars,  and 
the  dull  rogue  disappeared.  And  now,  having  reached 
Girod  street,  Respectability  insisted  on  Simplicity's  re 
taining  possession  of  the  treasure  till  morning,  when  they 
appointed  to  meet  at  the  office  of  the  most  extensively 
advertising  paper  in  the  city,  (the  Delta) — and,  refusing 
to  impose  further  upon  the  amiability  of  his  young  guide, 
bade  him,  with  many  bows  and  scrapes,  affectionately 
adieu. 

This  morning,  Simplicity,  who  is  not  without  his  share 
of  curiosity,  opened  the  pocket-book  to  examine  its  con 
tents,  and  found  it  filled  with  tissue  paper  !  Respecta 
bility  and  Dirt  were  not  strangers,  then, — and  Simplicity 
was  the  unhappy  victim  of  their  combination.  Should 
the  police  apprehend  the  delinquents,  we  will  let  our 
readers  know. 


PEE-WI  HO-KI,  THE  TAHITIAN  CANNIBAL: 

WITH   A    PREFACE   AND   AN   APPENDIX. 

THE  truth  is,  'this  was  the  way  of  it : 

We  had  stopped  late  at  Murphy's  restaurant,  on  St. 
Charles  street,  where,  in  the  hurry  of  our  avocations, 
we  sometimes  dine.  James  Thorn,  just  arived  from 
Tahiti,  was  with  us. 

We  had  before  partaken  of  a  copious  lunch  in  the 
way  of  fruits,  and  yet  more  copiously  of  champagne, 
on  board  of  Thorn's  ship,  moored  at  the  levee.  So  we 
had  no  appetite,  in  truth,  and  stopped  mainly  for  a 
talk  in  the  cool  quietness  of  the  place,  where  a  little 
iced  claret  of  a  pleasant  flavor  is  not  hard  to  get. 

No  one  was  about,  to  interrupt  us,  and  the  (/argons, 
having  supplied  us  with  the  wine,  left  us  to  ourselves. 

Thorn's  eye  fell  upon  the  bill  of  fare,  lying  upon 
the  smooth,  white  linen  of  the  table,  and  he  sipped 
half  the  contents  of  his  glass  ere  he  perused  it  fully. 
Thorn,  every  body  knows,  like  Burns's  friend,  Mathew, 
"is  a  queer  man." 

"  What  would  you  think  of  a  Tahitian  gourmand's 
bill  of  fare, — could  I  give  you  one  ?"  Thorn  suddenly 
demanded. 

"  A  novel  idea — delighted  !"  we  exclaimed. 

"  Well,  I  will  give  you  a  few  recipes,  communicating 
the  modus  operandi  of  the  cooks  of  a  certain  Tahitian 
chief  and  notable  high  liver,  whose  acquaintance  I 
formed  on  my  last  voyage.  The  chief's  name  is  Pee-wi 

(91) 


92  PEE-WI  HO-KI,    THE   TAHITIAN   CANNIBAL. 

Ho-ki,  and  he  dwells  at  this  moment  near  the  port  of 
Tut-tut,  in  Tahiti,  where  we  trade  with  the  natives 
mostly. 

^"Do  you  remember  that  when  a  clerical  friend  of 
the  Rev.  Sydney  Smith  departed  on  a  missionary  visit 
ation  to  New  Zealand, — the  parson  fervently  prayed 
that  his  brother  might  not  be  made  a  pickle  of  by  the 
savages  ?  The  jest  of  the  petition  neutralized  the  fer 
vor  of  it;  and  Pee-wi  Ho-ki,  after  patiently  listening 
to  the  missionary's  sermon  as  far  as  <forty-seventhly,' 
grew  hungry  and  ate  him  ! 

"  Now,  the  unhappy  missionary  was  a  radical  and  a 
choleric  priest,  and  made  the  cooks  swear  at  his  tough 
ness.  However,  he  was  at  length  got  done,  and  Pee- 
wi  Ho-ki  feasted  heartily  upon  him.  Alas  !  too  heartily. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  the  cannibal  failed  thorough 
ly  to  digest  man's  flesh.  In  the  pains  of  his  indigestion, 
attributing  the  founder  to  the  spiritual  functions  once 
appertaining  to  the  viand,  the  chief  waxed  serious.  He 
began  to  reflect  upon  what  the  good  tongue,  now  in  his 
stomach,  had  told  him  of  the  white  face's  religion, 
<  whereof  by  parcels  he  had  something  heard,  but  not 
intentively.' 

«  Stahl,  a  mediaeval  medical  philosopher,  asseverated 
that  the  stomach  is  the  seat  of  the  soul ;  in  which  opin 
ion  both  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  and  I  agree.  But  Pee-wi  Ho-ki 
went  further  than  I  can  at  present — and  declared  that 
the  tongue  of  the  preacher  continued  to  harangue  his 
soul,  so  near  a  neighbor  now,  and  with  such  effect,  that 
he  could  not  resist  its  eloquence  any  longer.  You  might 
have  thought  him  mad,  had  you  seen  the  nude  penitent 
sitting  in  the  warm  island  sunshine,  contemplating  his 
umbilicus,  and  barkening  unto  the  vermicular  borborygm, 
as  to  the  whispering  of  an  oracle,  or  the  blowing  of  a 
divine  afflatus  ! 


PEE-WI   HO-KI,    THE    TAHITIAN    CANNIBAL.  93 

"  Suffice  it  to  say,  that  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  was  converted, 
by  whatsoever  process,  and  human  bacon  was  taboo'd 
to  his  palate  ever  after. 

«  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  himself  became  a  missionary.  His 
labors  were  not  very  productive  in  his  native  island. 
Not  to  mention  that  a  prophet  is  rarely  honored  in  his 
own  country,  the  evidences  of  his  former  gluttony  were 
too  fresh  in  the  minds  of  his  hearers  for  him  to  convince 
them  of  the  sincerity  of  his  change  of  habits  and 
sentiments.  They  doubted  his  abstinence,  as  a  toper 
would  be  doubted  were  he  to  lecture  on  temperance  at  the 
doggeries  he  had  haunted,  while  his  nose  was  yet  red  and 
his  breath  yet  fragrant  with  the  fumes  of  brandy.  He  had 
exterminated  whole  families  on  festive  occasions,  and  the 
more  ignorant  and  plump  of  the  lower  classes  imagined 
that  the  wily  chief  was  only  practising  some  subtle  scheme 
of  entrapping  them  into  a  violation  of  law,  and  that  he 
would  execute  them  with  his  fingers  and  teeth. 

"In  sorrow  and  disgust,  the  neophyte  shook  the  dust 
of  his  native  island  from  his  feet,  embarked  in  a  canoe, 
and  transferred  the  scene  of  his  pious  operations  to 
Tahiti. 

4 'Hermann  Melville  has  described  Tahiti  in  a  book, 
(<  Typee'),  which  I  can  compare  but  to  Kasselas  re-written 
by  Irving.  You  are  familiar  with  the  milder  temper 
and  manners  of  the  Tahitians,  as  portrayed  by  our 
author.  In  this  new  sphere  the  labors  of  Pee-wi  Ho-ki 
were  crowned  with  triumphant  success.  I  will  not  eulo 
gise  the  enlightenment  of  the  religious  views  the  reformed 
man-eater  promulged.  In  those  warm  latitudes,  the 
languid  consciences  of  the  swarthy  inhabitants  cannot 
bear  those  iron  bands  and  rigid  formulas,  which  are  ne 
cessary  to  curb  the  more  robust  sinners  of  the  temperate 


94  PEE-WI   HO-KI,    THE    TAHITIAN   CANNIBAL. 

zones.     But  from  the  crime  of  cannibalism,  he  effectually 
redeemed  them. 

"  The  grateful  Tahitians  elevated  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  to  a 
higher  caste  in  their  barbarous  peerage  than  that  he  was 
born  into.  There  was  no  honor  too  noble  for  them  to 
bestow  upon  him.  They  slit  his  nose  and  ears,  and  in 
serted  ornaments  in  them  of  several  pounds  weight. 
They  tattoo'd  his  entire  body  with  hideous  figures,  prick 
ing  his  tegument  with  sharp  fish-bones,  and  infusing 
smarting  juices,  of  every  hue,  into  the  wounds.  There 
was  nothing  too  much  for  them  to  do  for  him.  They 
filled  his  treasure  basket  to  overflowing  with  rusty  nails, 
and  bits  of  glass,  and  other  precious  baubles.  They 
climbed  his  fruit  trees,  (the  heaviest  work  in  Tahiti), 
they  wove  his  mats,  they  lent  him  their  wives.  In  lieu 
of  that  condemnable  flesh-pot  from  which  he  had  weaned 
himself  and  them,  they  gave  him  pigs,  barbacued  in  that 
primitive  manner  discovered  by  Bo-bo,  the  eldest  son  of 
Ho-ti,  the  Chinese,  and  so  inimitably  dissertated  upon 
by  Charles  Lamb. 

"I  had  anchored  in  Tut-tut,  to  lay  in  a  store  of  water 
and  limes,  and,  perchance,  pick  up  a  peck  or  so  of  pearls. 
It  was  Sunday  morning,  and  I  was  about  to  order  the 
hands  to  haul  the  anchor  aboard,  when  I  was  deafened 
by  a  great  tooting  of  conch-shells  from  ashore.  Inquiring 
the  cause,  I  was  informed  that  it  was  the  signal  for 
church-going,  and  that  a  distinguished  native  missionary 
was  to  preach.  I  determined  to  lie  over  for  a  day,  and, 
for  the  edification  of  the  men,  send  them  to  meeting, 
and  go  myself. 

"  We  all  attended  service. 

"  The  church  was  a  shed  of  bamboo  and  palm  leaves, 
without  walls.  The  pews  were  mats,  and  the  pulpit  a 
block  of  wood.  The  audience  was  large  and  fashionable. 


THE   TAHITIAN    CANNIBAL.  95 

In  Tahiti,  that  equality  of  attire  has  always  existed, 
which  the  blooming  Sapphos  of  the  North.  are  endeavor 
ing  to  introduce  here  —  and  consists  of  a  single  habili 
ment,  to  wit,  a  diaper.  Still,  not  a  little  foppishness 
was  displayed  by  the  bachelors,  fellows  blazes  at  sixteen, 
and  coquetry  by  the  young  ladies,  belles  at  seven. 
People  pre-mature  in  Tahiti  ;  and,  for  the  rest,  they  are 
as  much  children  of  Nature  as  Harold  Skimpole. 

"  But  I  weary  you  with  my  yarn  ?"  interrupted  Thorn. 

"Not  at  all  !"  we  said.     "  Have  some  more  claret." 

«  Thank  you." 

"Well?" 

«  Well— 

"  I  did  not  understand  his  jargon,  but  I  paid  as  strict 
attention  to  the  minister  as  Ned  Brace  did  to  a  better 
dressed,  but  not  more  interesting  brother,  in  Georgia  — 
more  than  Pee-wi  Ho-ki's  regular  auditors.  They  gaped 
constantly,  a  penance,  perhaps,  expiated  by  the  offend 
ing  mandibles,  for  abolished  mastications.  They  flapped 
the  mosquitoes  from  their  bodies  with  their  hands,  now 
and  then  ;  but  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  occasionally  did  the  sa^ne, 
in  the  midst  of  his  dehortatioris,  not  seldom  actually 
turning  half  round  to  smack  a  swingeing  gallinipper  phle 
botomizing  his  back,  and  I  could  not  blame  his  pastoral 
flock. 

"  In  Tahiti,  to  pay  strict  attention  to  the  discourses 
of  the  clergy,  is  the  way  to  win  their  hearts.  I  won 
the  heart  of  Pee-wi  Ho-ki.  We  rubbed  noses  together, 
and  exchanged  names." 

"  CAPTAIN  Pee-wi  Ho-ki!"  we  interrupted,  congratu- 
latorily. 

<>  Thank  you,"  Thorn  said,  politely. 

"Well?" 


8 


96  PEE-WI   HO-KI,    THE   TAHITIAN    CANNIBAL. 

"  He  offered  me  the  whole  or  choice  of  his  wives,  and 
threw  a  mother-in-law  into  the  bargain,  venerable  at 
thirty-five.  I  declined,  on  the  score  of  my  engagement 
to  Miss  Smith,  of  New  Orleans,  who  had  taboo'd  me 
with  regard  to  other  women,  and  would  kick  me  for  the 
bigamy.  The  idea  of  female  calcitration  was  ridiculed 
by  the  parson,  who  indulged  in  reflections  upon  Miss 
Smith,  for  which  I  should  have  kicked  him,  but  that  I 
respected  his— diaper. 

"  That  evening,  Pee-wi  Ho-ki  and  I  repaired  to  his 
study,  a  shady  thicket,  and  lounged  upon  the  grass. 
He  related  to  me  his  history,  which  I  have  hastily  run 
through,  in  the  drinking  of  half  a  bottle,  as  Sir  Richard 
Steele  used  to  say.  I  was  always  curious  on  the  subject 
of  cannibalism,  having  witnessed  its  fascination  upon 
the  uncivilized  indulgers  in  it,  eaten  remarkable  sau 
sages  in  civilized  Paris,  and  expecting,  some  day,  to  be 
driven  to  the  long  boat,  with  half  a  dozen  others,  and 
without  the  cupboard  aboard.  Candidly,  I  asked  him 
to  favor  me  with  his  recipes.  He  did.  I  wrote  them 
down.  I  invariably  carry  them  in  my  pocket.  Here 
they  are.  I  will  read  a  few." 

Thorn  then  produced  a  worn  memorandum-book,  and 
read,  with  a  mincing  accent,  the  following  cannibalish 

recipes,  viz. : 

******          **          * 
******          **          * 

WHETHER  owing  to  the  wine,  our  long  sitting,  or 
Thorn's  spices — certainly  not  his  meats  ! — we  both  con 
fessed  to  a  recurring  sense  of  appetite,  and  selected  a 
veal  cutlet  and  coffee. 

We  whistled  for  the  gargons,  to  communicate  tmr 
wishes  to  the  cook.  The  gargons  did  not  come.  We 
waited.  Still  they  did  not  come.  We  rose,  and  looked 


Pee-Wi  Ho-Ki.  the  Tahitian  Cannibal— Pag-e  97, 


THE   TAHITIAN   CANNIBAL.  97 

through  the  glass  door  separating  the  culinary  from  the 
serving  saloon  of  the  restaurant,  and  saw — what  a  scene  ! 

The  cook — a  respectable  Hibernian  female — who  had 
been  listening  at  the  door — in  spasms  ! 

The  concerned  g argons  were  standing  around  the 
prostrate  two-thirds  of  Phelim  Mahoney,  attempting  to 
restore  her  by  the  forced  introduction  of  potatoes,  chops, 
pork  and  beans  into  her  mouth.  But  the  teeth  remained 
clenched,  until  Thorn,  who  had  unconsciously  taken  up 
the  coffee-pot  for  a  water-pitcher,  as  he  rushed  to  her 
assistance,  as  unconsciously  spilled  its  boiling  contents 
upon  Bridget's  pedestals,  which  instantly  undamped  her 
teeth  and  released  her  tongue — We  will  not  translate  ! 

Thus,  in  a  few  words,  have  we  explained — first,  the 
seeming  row  in  Murphy's  always  quiet,  genteel,  well-ad 
ministered  restaurant,  on  Friday  evening  last ;  secondly, 
the  evident  falsity  of  the  affidavit  made  by  Bridget  Ma- 
honey  before  his  honor,  Recorder  Genois,  yesterday 
forenoon,  charging  the  captain  of  a  schooner  and  a  grave 
newspaper  reporter,  with  desiring  her  to  truss  and  roast 
human  flesh,  to  appease  their  cannibal  hunger ;  and, 
thirdly,  the  mysterious  disappearance,  early  this  morn 
ing,  of  James  Thorn  and  the  ship  Bagatelle,  from  their 
moorings  at  the  wharf  of  the  New  Orleans  levee. 

Diximus  ! 


THE  PHILOSOPHY  OF  TOYS. 

TOYS  !  the  playthings  of  children  !  But  have 
not  grown-up  people  trifles  also,  which  they  dally  with  ? 
What  is  the  golden  coin  to  the  miser,  but  a  bauble,  that 
he  fondles  as  a  girl  fondles  her  doll  ?  The  ruling  pas 
sion  has  its  darling  idol,  which,  looked  at  narrowly, 
dwindles  down  to  the  significance  of  a  penny  whistle. 
Houses,  lands,  horses,  fleets  of  ships,  any,  and  all  of 
these,  are  gew-gaws  to  many,  who  have  no  more  real 
enjoyment  in  them  than — nay,  we  doubt  if  as  much  as 
— the  stripling  in  his  hoop  careering  by  his  side.  And 
a  wife,  that  dear  creature,  who  ought  to  be  the  associate 
of  the  heart  and  fellow  of  the  spirit,  what  is  she,  too 
frequently,  but  a  bon-bon,  a  puerile  dainty  wrapt  in  tin 
sel,  spoiling,  or  that  is  spoilt,  almost  before  possessed ; 
and  how  the  Big  Boy  of  Kentucky,  the  precocious  youth 
of  Brobdignag,  with  large,  round  eyes,  stares  at  his 
saccharine  Dora  !  «  The  child  is  father  of  the  man,"  as 
Wordsworth  avers, — and  the  man,  in  his  turn,  can  only 
produce  children  !  So  it  always  will  be  !  It  was  in  a 
bitter  spirit  Sir  Thomas  Brown  (who  married  three  wives) 
wished  that  the  race  might  be  perpetuated  after  the  man 
ner  of  trees ! 

These  reflections  occurred  to  us,  as  we  casually  drop 
ped  into  a  toy-shop  yesterday,  in  the  French  portion  of 
the  city.  It  is  in  that  portion  of  the  city,  by  the  way, 
that  we  do  most  prefer  to  stroll.  The  graceful  carriage, 
the  elegant  toilette,  and  the  dark  eyes  of  the  Creole 

(98) 


THE    PHILOSOPHY    OF   TOYS.  99 

ladies,  are  magnets  that  irresistibly  draw  us.  And  one 
thing  we  have  observed  particularly  in  that  quarter  of 
New  Orleans,  the  beauty  of  the  children  one  meets  on 
the  street,  or  sees  playing  on  the  balconies. 

Several  of  these  slender,  handsome  little  people  of 
both  sexes,  we  noticed  in  the  fairy  magazine,  and,  in 
truth,  their  arch,  innocent  and  happy  faces,  more  than 
anything  else,  induced  us  to  go  in. 

The  merchant  was  a  stout,  full-faced,  bearded  man, 
more  like  an  ogre,  or  a  hussar,  than  a  dealer  in  such 
tiny  ware,  and  trafficker  with  such  abbreviated  customers. 
What  a  practical,  keen  reader  of  the  fine  writing  of 
juvenile  phizzes  he  was,  to  be  sure  !  No  matter  how 
small  the  mere  button  of  a  nose  might  be,  how  like  a 
new-born  moon  the  slim  crescent  of  a  brow,  the  eyes 
need  not  be  of  more  diameter  than  gimlet-holes,  bless 
you  !  he  would  decipher  the  character  at  once,  with  those 
quick  optical  microscopes  of  his,  and  tell  you  whether 
that  boy  wanted  a  drum,  this  stripling  an  infant  gun, 
that  pretty  girl  a  cradle,  or  this  demoiselle  a  wax  baby 
with  ringlets  and  beads. 

We  wonder  if  that  fierce  soldier  of  a  shopman,  has  a 
heart  any  gentler  than  his  looks,  or  his  voice  either  ? 
Lord,  lord,  how  terribly  he  would  pronounce  mon  Dieu 
and  non,  nasal  words ;  how  he  dilated  his  mouth  under 
his  moustache  when  he  said  oui  ;  and  as  for  s'ilvous  plait, 
it  sounded  very  much  like  "  shiver-your-liver  !"  How 
ever,  he  must  be  a  kind  individual,  for  the  children  didn't 
seem  to  fear  him.  One  easy,  devil-may-care,  prepossess 
ing-looking  manikin,  actually  cocked  his  elbow  on  the 
bushy  man's  neck,  when  the  bushy  man  stooped  down  to 
pick  up  an  unweaned  fiddle  he  had  let  fall — but,  then, 
this  devil-of-a-manikin  asked  for  a  Sword ! 

There  was  a  lecturer  paid  a  hundred  dollars  in  Boston, 
8* 


100  THE   PHILOSOPHY   OF   TOYS. 

to  prove  that  man  was  lorn  to  play.  The  song  had  it, 
hitherto,  that  man  was  made  to  mourn ;  and  there  was 
a  strong  orthodox  prejudice  about  labor.  But  they  paid 
this  play-man,  the  heterodox  Unitarians.  Old  Harvard 
University  gave  play-time,  in  order  that  all  might  go  to 
hear  him.  So  the  whole  world  is,  then,  a  toy-shop,  and 
everybody  a  child.  Well,  this  is  very  like  what  we 
began  with.  We  have  jostled  against  the  Bostonian  in 
the  variety  store.  But,  dear  sir,  hang  philosophy ! 
With  Monsieur's  permission — merci! — will  you  stand 
aside,  little  boy  ? — merci ! — what  do  you  think  of  this 
short  violin  ?  Prut,  prut,  prit !  Tweedledum,  tweedle- 
dee,  dee,  dee,  dee ! 


A  HEAD  UP. 

A  POLICEMAN,  yesterday,  walking  along  Bienville 
street,  saw  a  little  boy,  named  Peterkin,  roll  something 
large  and  round,  which  he  beside  the  gutter,  in  playing 
there,  had  found. 

He  came  to  ask  the  urchin,  "What  he  had  found,  that 
was  so  large  and  smooth  and  round?" 

And  Peterkin  said — "  It  is  a  skull!" 

So  it  was.  The  flesh  was  gone,  but  a  few  tufts  of 
hair  still  remained  on  the  sinciput,  like  Time's  forelock. 

And  the  skull  seemed  to  say  to  the  policeman  and 
Peterkin — "  I  lived,  I  loved,  I  quaffed  like  ye ;  I  died : 
let  earth  my  bones  resign.  Fill  up — you  cannot  injure 
me:  the  worm  hath  fouler  lips  than  thine' — meaning 
the  policeman's,  who  was  chewing  tobacco. 

But  there  was  nothing  to  fill  up  with,  except  the  water 
in  the  gutter. 

And  the  policeman  brought  the  skull  to  the  court  of 
Recorder  Genois. 

And  the  Recorder,  looking  distraitly  at  the  skull,  said 
— «  That  skull  had  a  tongue  in  it,  and  could  sing  once  ! 
This  might  be  the  pate  of  a  politician,  which  this  ass, 
now"  (meaning  a  thief  beside  him,  whom  he  was  trying) 
"  o'erreaches — one  that  would  circumvent  God :  might 
it  not  ?" 

And  the  policeman  emphatically  said — "  It  might, 
your  honor." 

And  the  Recorder  continued.  "  Why  e'en  so :  and 

(101) 


102  A    HEAD    UP. 

now  my  lady  Worm's ;  chapless,  and  knocked  about  the 
mazzard  with  a  watchman's  rattle.  Here's  a  fine  revolu 
tion" — addressing  a  French  lawyer,  recently  from  Paris, 
— "  an  we  had  the  trick  to  see't.  Yet,  why  may  it  not 
have  been  the  skull  of  a  lawyer?"  (The  French  lawyer 
winced :  but  the  Justice  prolonged  his  musings.)  "  Where 
be  his  quiddits  now,  his  quillets,  his  cases,  his  tenures, 
his  tricks  ?  why  does  he  suffer  this  policeman  to  knock 
him  about  the  sconce  with  a  rattle,  and  will  not  tell  him 
of  his  action  of  battery  ?  Humph  !  This  skull  might 
be  in  's  time  a  great  buyer  of  land,  and  negroes,  and 
cotton,  and  sugar,  with  his  statutes,  his  recognisances, 
his  fines,  his  double  vouchers — Mr.  Bozonier  ! — his  re 
coveries  :  is  this  the  fine  of  his  fines,  and  the  recovery 
of  his  recoveries,  to  have  his  fine  pate  full  of  coarse  mud 
and  gutter  water  ?  will  his  vouchers — Mr.  Bozonier  ! — 
vouch  him  no  more  of  his  purchases  and  double  ones  too, 
than  the  length  and  breadth  of  a  pair  of  indentures  ? 
The  very  conveyances  of  his  lands  will  hardly  lie  in  this 
box" — boxing  the  skull  with  his  hand — "  and  must  the 
inheritor  himself  have  no  more  ?  ha  ?" 

And  the  policeman  said,  "Not  a  jot  more,  your  honor." 
And  the  Recorder  said,  "  I  must  speak  to  this  little 
fellow,"  alluding  to  Peterkin.     "Whose  skull  is  this, 
sirrah?" 

And  Peterkin,  scratching  his  poll,  said,  "Mine,  sir." 
And  the  Recorder  said,  "  How  absolute  the  knave  is  ! 
We  must  speak  by  the  card,  or  equivocation  will  undo 
us.  By  the  law,  the  many  years  that  I  have  been  Re 
corder,  I  have  taken  note  of  it ;  the  age  has  grown  so 
picked,  the  toe  of  the  thief  comes  so  near  the  heel  of  the 
honest  man  whose  pocket  he  is  picking,  that  he  galls  his 
kibe.  Here,  turn  this  Peterkin  loose.  [  Takes  the  skull. ~\ 
Alas,  poor  Devil !  Where  be  your  gibes  now  ?  your 


A   HEAD    UP.  103 

gambols  ?  your  songs  ?  your  flashes  of  merriment,  that 
were  wont  to  set  the  table  on  a  roar  ?  Not  one  now,  to 
mock  your  own  grinning  ?  Get  you  to  the  theatre,  and 
tell  the  scene  painters  there,  let  them  paint  an  inch  thick, 
to  this  favor  they  must  come :  make  them  laugh  at  that. 
Pr'ythee,  policeman,  tell  me  one  thing." 

And  the  policeman  said,  "What's  that,  your  honor?" 

And  the  Justice  asked,  "Dost  thou  think,  Shocco 
Jones  looked  o'  this  fashion  i'  th'  earth  ?" 

"  E'en  so,  your  honor,"  replied  the  policeman,  at  a 
venture. 

"  And  smelt  so  ?  pah  !  [Recorder  throws  down  the 
skull."]  An  ounce  of  civet,  kind  Apothecary."  (We 
hand  him  our  pouncet-box.)  "  But  soft !  but  soft !  aside. 
Here  be  batteries  and  larcenies  which  we  must  try." 

The  skull  was  conveyed  into  the  arrest-room,  and  was 
there  stared  at  by  scores  of  men,  every  one  of  whom 
unconsciously  had  skulls  knobbing  their  own  spinal  col 
umns,  not  a  whit  prettier,  though  disguised  with  flesh 
for  a  short  time  yet,  than  the  raw-head-and-bloody-bones 
they  were  so  eagerly  inspecting  ! 


THE  MICBOSCOPIST. 

is  a  little  man,  the  Microscopist,  who,  every 
evening,  illuminates  Commercial  Place.  He  has  a  soft 
voice,  is  generous,  and  has  a  touch  of  sentiment  withal. 
He  has  five  small  cylinders  of  brass,  the  size  of  your 
thumb,  with  fairy  tapers  burning  in  them,  and  the  tiniest 
of  holes  in  the  tops  of  them.  They  are  fixed  on  five 
horizontal  spokes  jutting  out  from  a  tripod.  You  are 
desired  to  look  into  the  holes  of  the  cylinders,  and  see 
the  objects  magnified  within  them. 

"  Just  look,  gentlemen  !''  says  the  little  man,  "  and 
if  you  are  not  satisfied,  you  can  have  your  money  back 
again.  In  the  first  place,  you  will  see  a  drop  of  Missis 
sippi  water;  you  will  perceive  that  it  is  swarming  with 
live  creatures  of  every  imaginable  shape,  frogs,  alliga 
tors,  snakes,  and  fish.  The  next  object  is  the  tail  and 
sting  of  a  horse-fly,  showing  upon  an  enlarged  scale  the 
apparatus  with  which  that  insect  torments  one  of  the 
noblest  races  of  animals  upon  the  habitable  globe.  Come 
up,  gentlemen,  I  am  sure  you  will  get  more  than  your 
money's  worth  ;  it  is  only  necessary  for  one  to  come,  and 
every  body  else  will  follow.  The  third  object  is  a  piece 
of  sugar  cane ;  it  here  appears  in  the  form  of  net- work, 
in  the  cells  of  which  that  useful  sap  is  contained  which 
is  manufactured  into  sugar  and  makes  one  of  the  great 
staples  of  our  commerce.  Only  a  dime,  gentlemen ; 
come  and  look ;  if  you  are  not  satisfied,  you  can  have 
your  money  back  again.  The  fourth  object  you  con- 

(104) 


THE    MICROSCOPIST.  105 

template  is  that  remarkable  parasite  which  elicited  a 
ballad  and  an  epic  from  two  celebrated  poets,  Robert 
Burns  and  Peter  Pindar;  in  the  one  case-  climbing  on 
Miss  Jenny's  fine  Lunardi  bonnet,  and  in  the  other  case 
forestalling  Royal  George  in  his  own  dish ;  you  will  ob 
serve  that  it  has  six  legs,  the  shell  of  a  snapping-turtle, 
and  the  horns  of  an  ox.  Come  up,  gentlemen,  you  are 
sure  to  get  your  money's  worth ;  it  is  only  necessary  for 
one  to  come,  and  every  body  else  will  follow.  The  last 
object  you  will  see  is  a  cheese-mite ;  here  might-ily  en 
larged,  it  is  a  species  of  armadillo,  covered  with  hairs, 
and  having  the  claws  of  a  crab.  One  dime,  sir ;  thank 
you,  sir !  Please  to  accept,  sir,  as  a  token  of  affection, 
this  Fifty  Dollar  Bill,  drawn  on  the  Bank  of  True  Love, 
in  the  State  of  Matrimony,  and  secured  by  the  pledge 
of  the  whole  stock  of  Truth,  Honor  and  Fidelity  ;  remark, 
sir, — <  I  promise  to  pay  Blank  Bank  on  acceptance  tho 
sincere  homage  and  never  failing  devotion  of  an  affec 
tionate  heart.  Signed  by  the  President,  CUPID.'  The 
next  gentleman — you  will  be  satisfied,  or  get  your  money 
back  again — you  are  sure  to  see  a  dime's  worth ;  only 
ten  cents,  gentlemen,  and  a  draft  on  the  Bank  of  True 
Love  !" 

So,  with  a  soft  voice,  and  a  dash  of  sentiment  withal, 
cries  the  little  man  of  science  half  the  night  long. 


AN  INSTANCE  OF  THE  FORMER  SANS-CU- 
LOTTISM  OF  THE  NEW  ORLEANS  BENCH 
AND  BAR. 

MANY  years  ago,  an  excellent  judge  and  man — no 
other,  in  short,  than  the  late  Gov.  Edward  White, — pre 
sided  over  one  of  the  New  Orleans  courts. 

At  the  time  we  speak  of,  the  sun  had  nearly  attained 
its  maximum  degree  of  summer  heat,  and  mankind  and 
the  rest  of  creation  were  duly  suffering  in  consequence. 
Coups  de  soleil  were  frequent  as  the  shafts  of  Apollo 
when  he  slew  the  Python,  or  the  blows  of  Hyer  when 
he  milled  Yankee  Sullivan ;  horses,  in  drays  and  omni 
buses,  would  suddenly  stop,  and  drop,  Death,  and  not 
the  driver,  drawing  them  up  with  the  check  rein ;  and 
little  birds,  in  attempting  to  fly  over  the  city,  would  as 
unexpectedly  clasp  their  wings  and  fall,  dead,  to  the 
earth,  as  though  New  Orleans  were  another  Sodom, — 
which,  indeed,  many  Puritans,  of  more  temperate  climes, 
asseverate  that  it  is  !  Let  the  imagination  of  the  reader 
supply  the  minor  notches  of  the  thermometer,  whose 
more  glowing  and  important  sections  we  have  thus  ruled 
off. 

The  judge,  who  would  have  obstinately  buttoned  an 
overcoat  about  his  person  at  the  least  Boreal  whisper  of 
dissuasion  from  the  same,  was  "as  open  as  day"  to  the 
sans-culottic  suggestions  of  the  ardent  luminary,  and  at 
its  lightest  appeal  peeled!  It  was  matter  of  indifference 
to  him  whether  he  desquammated  at  his  private  office, 

(106) 


NEW   ORLEANS   BAR.  107 

or  on  the  public  bench.  Upon  the  latter,  accordingly, 
at  the  feverish  epoch  we  have  depicted,  he  appeared  with 
the  smallest  quantity  possible  of  superfluous  clothing. 
Shirt-sleeved  and  stocking-footed,  fan  in  hand,  and  a 
pitcher  of  ice-water  at  his  below,  he  conducted  the  trials 
brought  before  him. 

In  England,  and  countries  more  tyrannical,  they  still 
cloak  justice  in  voluminous  robes,  and  hoodwink  it  with 
amplitudinous  wigs  of  wool.  And  even  in  free  America, 
though  we  have  economically  reduced  its  tailor  and  ha 
berdasher  expenditures,  we  adhere  to  a  useless  outlay 
of  dignity,  which,  sometimes,  not  only  renders  it  uncom 
fortable,  but,  what  is  worse,  positively  hampers  its  ac 
tions.  However,  we  complain  in  vain  against  deeply 
rooted  prejudices;  the  good  Republic  will  never  cease  to 
stickle  for  its  judicial  dignity. 

It  is  not,  therefore,  matter  of  surprise  that  the  bar 
here — doomed  in  addition  to  perform  its  functions  in 
full  dress — should  have  felt  itself  offended  and  aggrieved 
by  the  easy,  negligent  fashion  adopted  by  Judge  White. 
Looks,  hints,  and  audible  murmurs  were  resorted  to  with 
out  avail.  His  honor  was  incorrigible. 

At  length,  upon  an  occasion  when  the  warmth  and  the 
neglige  were  both  climactical,  one  member  of  the  bar — 
afterwards  Judge  Cannon, — bolder  than  the  rest,  under 
took  to  administer  a  practical  rebuke  to  the  judge,  which 
should  make  him  ashamed,  and  mend  his  ways. 

In  this  wise — 

The  case  then  in  course  of  investigation,  was  the  cele 
brated  assault  and  battery  of  John  Doe  upon  the  non- 
offending  body  of  Richard  Roe,  in  the  course  of  which 
our  amiable  friend,  William  Patterson,  received  a  blow 
from  an  unknown  individual,  whose  name  has  not  yet 
transpired.  Mr.  Cannon  was  engaged  as  counsel  for 
9 


108  SANS    CULOTTISM    OF   THE 

Roe,  and  requested,  incidentally,  to  say  a  word  or  so 
for  Patterson. 

The  comfortable  judge  sat  as  we  have  painted  him. 
On  his  left,  in  the  jury  box,  sweltered  twelve  hot  jurors. 
The  partly  outraged,  partly  envious,  decidedly  perspiring 
attorney,  fixed  his  eye  upon  the  judge,  and  began  to 
speak. 

"  May  it  please  the  court,  and  you  gentlemen  of  the 
jury" — Here  the  lawyer  violently  used  his  handker 
chief,  and,  with  a  long  breath,  threw  it  on  the  desk  be 
side  him, — "this  is  a  most  aggravated  case  of  assault 
and  battery.  Richard  Roe,  a  harmless  citizen,  is 
ruthlessly  seized  by  the  throat.  And  by  whom  ?  By 
John  Doe  !  John  Doe,  a  notorious  bully ;  John  Doe, 
a  purseless  gentleman  of  leisure — a  vagrant;  John 
Doe,  whom  nobody  respects ;  John  Doe" — Here,  de 
liberately,  the  counsel  divested  himself  of  his  coat. 
The  jurors,  legal  men,  sheriff,  clerks,  and  spectators, 
stared.  But  the  judge  only  gazed  at  the  criminal,  and 
gently  fanned  himself.  "  And,  mark  !"  proceeded  the 
advocate  with  increasing  animation;  "  during  this  assault, 
W.  Patterson,  Esquire,  William  Patterson — Billy  Patter 
son,  we  call  him  familiarly, — is  struck !  Who  struck 
him?"  and,  in  the  vehemence  of  the  interrogatory,  off 
flew  the  vest  of  the  pleader.  "  I  repeat,  who  ?"  and  the 
orator  divested  himself  of  his  shoes.  Now,  at  last,  all 
present,  with  the  exception  of  the  judge,  comprehended 
the  object  of  Mr.  Cannon,  and  it  was  with  the  utmost 
difficulty  that  they  suppressed  their  hilarity.  "I  do  not 
aver  that  the  proof  shows  it,  sirs,  but  it  is  fair  to  con 
clude  that  John  Doe  struck  Billy  Patterson  !  What, 
then,  does  such  a  criminal  deserve  at  your  hands  ?  Be 
hold  him,  not  in  borrowed  plumes,  but  in  his  pure  nature, 
deprived  of  the  adventitious  cloaks  with  which  art  has 


NEW    ORLEANS    BAR.  109 

disguised  him  !"  This  burst  could  have  been  heard  in 
the  midst  of  Jackson  Square,  and,  before  its  echoes  died 
away,  the  orator  had  stripped  himself  of  his  breeches. 
The  judge,  meanwhile,  had  cocked  his  bootless  feet  on 
the  bench,  imbibed  hugely  from  the  pitcher  of  ice  water, 
and  was  the  focus  of  a  breeze  from  every  quarter  of  the 
compass,  evoked  by  the  magical  fan  he  waved  in  his 
ever-busy  palm.  The  audience  could  restrain  them 
selves  no  longer,  great  eclats  de  rire  broke  from  their 
throats. 

"  Sheriff,  keep  order  in  the  court !"  thundered  the 
judge. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  h-order  !  ho  !  ho  !  h-order  !"  cried  the 
sheriff,  a  cachinnatory  pleurisy  stitching  his  side. 

"  Sir,  your  honor !"  continued  the  counsel,  but  in  a 
smothered  voice,  his  head  being  concealed  by  his  shirt, 
half  off! 

The  judge  saw.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  the  fan 
dropped,  the  pitcher  tumbled  over,  shivered  into  a  thou 
sand  atoms,  and  the  judge  vanished  from  the  bench  ! 

The  yells  of  laughter  had  barely  ceased,  and  Mr. 
Cannon  reclothed  himself,  when  Judge  White  returned 
to  his  station,  with  boots,  woollen  vest,  winter  cravat, 
and  broad  cloth  coat  on,  effectually  redeemed,  though 
not  disenthralled ! 

Every  one's  smiles  gradually  abated,  and  the  case  was 
resumed.  How  it  terminated,  we  do  not  know ;  but  this 
we  know,  that  the  judge  always,  ever  after,  appeared  on 
the  bench  properly  dressed,  and  with  no  lack  of  dignity. 
It  has  been  intimated  to  us,  that  for  many  nights  even, 
subsequently  to  the  scene  we  have  narrated,  he  actually 
slept  in  his  clothes;  but  this  we  consider  a  fib,  a  mere 
fancy. 


STATIUS  HUMBRAR; 

OK, — THE   MAN   OP   TWO    SHADOWS. 


A  KNOT  of  Charlies  might  have  been  seen,  about 
eleven  o'clock  last  night,  consulting  under  the  veranda 
of  a  house  at  the  corner  of  Canal  and  Rampart  streets. 
Their  eyes  looked  out  furtively  from  beneath  their 
slouched,  broad-brimmed  hats,  and  occasionally  one  of 
them  pointed  his  rattle  down  Canal  Street,  towards  the 
slowly  retreating  figure  of  a  man,  who,  certainly,  was 
conducting  himself  in  a  very  singular  manner. 

"  Is  he  a  burglar,  d'ye  think,  Bill  ?"  whispered  one 
of  the  watchmen. 

Bill  shook  his  head,  as  much  as  to  say,  «  Can't  tell 
you  till  I  knows  more,  John." 

"Look — look — look!"  muttered  a  third  policeman. 

The  retreating  figure  was  violently  leaping  forward, 
and  to  one  side,  thrusting  his  cane  right  and  left,  stamp 
ing,  and  uttering  deep-throated  imprecations  and  threats 
of  death !  He  was  acting  like  a  madman  fallen  afoul 
of  a  nest  of  snakes,  which  he  was  determined  on  exter 
minating, — or  Muriden,  (as  described  by  Charles  Lamb) 
cutting  and  thrusting  with  his  own  shadow ! 

The  guardians  of  the  city  rushed  incontinently  to  the 
spot  where  the  figure — Statius  Humbrar,  by  name,  who 
had  imbibed  strong  drink  over  freely, — was  rehearsing 
a  solo  of  quarter-staff.  As  they  reached  the  place,  the 
cane  of  Humbrar  was  striking  here,  there,  and  every 
where,  with  such  miscellaneous  fury,  that  the  night-offi 
cers  dared  not  venture  within  the  sphere  of  its  action. 

(110) 


STATIUS    HUMBRAR.  Ill 

«  Come,  stop  this  here,  will  you?"  demanded  one  of 
the  municipal  guards. 

«  Sh!  Sh  I  Don't  you  see  there  are  two  of  them? 
There,  that  long-bodied,  dark-browed  fellow,  on  the 
pavement,  and  that  crooked-shanked  scoundrel  shrinking 
against  the  wall !  But,  I'll  do  for  them — I'll  fix  'em  ! 
Have  at  you,  villains  !  Lay  on,  McDoodle,  and  blamed 
be  he  who  first  says  Nuff !  Sessa  I — sessa  /"  and  Statius 
plied  his  cane  more  vigorously  than  ever. 

«  Bill  ?"  said  one  watchman — tapping  his  forehead 
significantly. 

"John?"  said  another  watchman — also  tapping  his 
forehead  significantly. 

«  Dick  ?"  said  a  third  watchman — likewise  tapping  his 
forehead  significantly. 

Then,  without  saying  anything,  but  exchanging  glances 
of  intelligence,  all  three  again  tapped  their  foreheads 
significantly. 

Still  the  cane  whistled  in  the  air,  right  and  left, 
forward  and  back,  about  the  head  of  Statius  Humbrar. 

"  Ha !  I  had  you  there,  0  bandy-legged  foot-pad !" 
cried  Humbrar.  "  And  you,  longitudinal  ruffian  !  I 
gave  it  ye  in  your  midriff,  eh  ?  Sessa !  sessa  /"  his 
position  that  of  a  fencer — cane  pushed  in  front,  left 
hand  up,  right  knee  bent,  and  body  between  advance 
and  retreat. 

At  this  moment,  by  a  concerted  signal,  the  watchmen 
rushed  in  upon  Statius,  disarmed  and  pinioned  him. 

Humbrar  burst  into  tears. 

"  Men — men  !  have  you  the  heart  to  assist  my  ene 
mies  ?"  he  asked,  sobbing. 

"Henemies?"  replied  one  of  the  watch.  "Why, 
they  is  your  shadows,  you  cussed  fool !" 

"  Shadows !"  gloomily  responded  Statius  Humbrar. 
9* 


112  STATIUS   HUMBRAE. 

"  You  mean  to  quote  the  old  poetical  adage — « Alas  ! 
what  shadows  we  are,  and  what  shadows  we  pursue  !' 
Don't  you?" 

"  No,  we  doesn't.  We  means,  you  was  shying  at 
your  own  shadows,  like  a  drunken  man,  or  hidiot — one 
or  t'other,  or  both  !" 

"  Gentlemen,  have  you  ever  studied  natural  philoso 
phy  ?"  interrogated  the  arrested  man. 

"What?" 

"Natural  philosophy?" 

"  No — and  none  of  your  himperence,  neither  !" 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  insult  you,  gentlemen.  But  I 
have  studied  natural  philosophy,  and  I  know  the  laws 
of  optics,  and  of  lights,  shadows,  and  linear  perspective. 
I  know,  therefore,  that  you  are  mistaken,  and  that  no 
man  can  cast  two  shadows,  one  on  the  pavement,  and 
one  on  the  wall  at  his  side.  No,  gentlemen,  those  are 
not  shadows.  They  are  designing  thieves,  house-break 
ers,  murderers  !  They  have  dogged  me  ever  since  the 
gas  was  lighted.  That  fellow  crawls  along  the  pave 
ment  before  me,  and  that  other  fellow  keeps  at  my 
elbow.  They  jump  suddenly  towards  me  from  behind 
corners,  they  press  between  me  and  the  wall  in  narrow 
places.  They  speak  not,  but,  silent  and  inexorable, 
they  track  me  in  my  wanderings,  like  hounds  of  Death  ! 
Shadows,  quotha !  No,  gentlemen,  by  the  laws  of  per 
spective,  by  the  laws  of  optics — " 

"Do  you  hop  sticks  to  the  watch'us,  and  give  us  no 
more  of  your  perplexivies,  for  they  doesn't  enlighten  us 
much.  Come  along  with  you  !"  said  the  watch,  dragging 
Statius  Humbrar  to  the  watch-house. 

This  morning,  having  recovered  from  the  effect  of  his 
over-dose  of  strong  drink,  Statius  Humbrar  was  in  better 
condition  of  mind  to  appreciate  the  explanation  of  Be- 


STATIUS   IIUMBRAE.  113 

corder  Genois,  who  demonstrated  to  him  that  he  cer 
tainly  did  cast  two  shadows  last  night,  the  result  of  the 
two  rows  of  gas-lights  on  the  streets,  a  lamp  behind  him 
reflecting  the  image  in  front,  and  the  lamp  on  the  right 
depicting  the  daguerreotype  on  the  wall,  to  his  left. 
And,  admitting  that  he  actually  did  reflect  the  two 
shadows,  and  promising  to  abstain  from  liquor  hereafter, 
Statius  Humbrar  was  allowed  to  go  in  peace,  and, 
accordingly,  so  departed,  followed  by  one  shadow,  at 
which  he  would  occasionally  glance  with  a  mixed  smile 
and  shudder,  which  appeared  to  amuse  the  Charlies  who 
arrested  him,  and  who  now  gazed  after  him  until  man 
and  shadow  disappeared  up  Chartres  street. 


LISETTE. 

ONLY  for  nine  years  Lisette  had  breathed  the  air  of 
this  world.  But  she  had  grown  beautiful  as  a  flower  in 
it.  All  who  saw  her  were  moved  by  the  exceeding  fair 
ness  of  one  so  unfortunate.  Lisette  was  blind. 

But  Lisette  was  born  blind,  and,  with  her  cheerful 
spirits,  was  hardly  aware  of  the  deprivation.  Others 
could  not  forget  it,  no  matter  how  familiar  with  her,  as 
might  be  perceived  from  their  softened  manner  towards 
her.  And  her  phrases  reminded  one  of  it,  being  "  I 
see,"  when  she  put  forth  her  hands  to  feel,  or  stopped 
to  listen.  A  touching  error, — if,  indeed,  her  soul  did 
not  truly  see,  as,  we  doubt  not,  it  did. 

How  small,  gentle,  and  graceful  did  Lisette  appear, 
playing  with  the  children,  her  companions  in  the  dusky 
evening.  It  was  a  delight  to  behold  her  brown  hair 
twined  about  the  fingers  of  the  sportful  breeze.  The 
crimson  animation  of  her  cheeks  will  often  be  recalled 
by  memories  which  embalm  pretty  pictures.  She  had  a 
smile  bright  and  pleasant  as  the  early  glances  of  Day, 
while  her  prattle  was  gay  and  harmonious  as  the  matins 
of  the  lark  that  awakes  its  eyes. 

Eyes.  Alas,  that  Lisette's  should  have  been  clouded 
by  so  thick  a  drop  serene.  The  pale-blue  iris  danced 
restlessly,  as  if  in  search  of  light;  but  the  pupils  re 
mained  closed,  shutting  it  out. 

An  atmosphere  of  innocence,  cheerfulness,  and  love, 
dwelt  around  Lisette, — that  atmosphere  which,  when 
children's  spirits  depart  from  us,  being  called  of  GOD, 

(114) 


LISETTE.  115 

becomes  visible,  and  is  the  shining  halo  of  cherubim  and 
angels. 

Lisette  is  an  angel  now.  Her  wings  were  expanding 
when  parents  and  friends  were  not  dreaming  of  it. 
Naturally,  they  were  gazing  outwardly  and  afar  on  a 
roseate  path  of  happiness,  predestinated  to  her  feet. 
Happiness  was  decreed  her ;  but  the  path  to  it,  smooth 
and  pleasing  as  they  might  have  hoped  it,  was  not  traced 
on  the  Earth.  Her  path  lay,  like  a  ray  of  light,  in  the 
azure  air.  Her  wings,  and  not  her  feet,  were  to  bear 
her  along  it.  Happiness  was  appointed  her,  in  Heaven. 

We  say  this  so  confidently,  because  Lisette  was  such 
a  good  and  pious  child. 

Daily,  Lisette  was  wont  to  visit  the  Church,  dip  her 
hand  in  holy  water,  sprinkle  her  forehead  with  it,  and 
laying  a  votive  offering  of  lilies  near  the  image  of  the 
Virgin,  implore  Her  intercession  and  protection.  The 
priests,  at  first,  used  to  lead  the  blind  child  to  the  proper 
place  to  pay  her  devotions,  but  she  soon  came  to  know 
the  way,  and  where  to  kneel,  and  never  made  a  mistake. 
The  worthy  fathers  always  welcomed  her,  however,  by 
name, — said  some  words  of  kindness  to  her,  and  gave  her 
their  benediction  when  she  went  away. 

"  If  a  great  many  people  in  New  Orleans,  who  have 
perfect  eyes,  and  go  to  look  at  scene  after  scene  of  sin, 
would  but  come  to  our  Church  here,  and  look  once  at 
this  little,  sightless  girl,  dedicating  lilies  to  the  Blessed 
Mary,  and  praying  at  the  altar,  to  Her  Son,  what  an 
excellent  homily  it  would  be  to  them," — mused  the  worthy 
fathers  as  Lisette  went  away. 

One  day,  as  Lisette  went  away,  a  sudden,  heavy  rain 
fell,  drowning  the  streets  in  a  very  brief  time.  The 
servant  who  accompanied  Lisette,  tried  to  hurry  home, 
and  avoid  the  rain ;  but  Lisette,  on  account  of  her  blind- 


116  LISETTE. 

ness,  could  not  walk  fast,  and  so  was  thoroughly  drenched 
by  the  storm. 

How  many  citizens  rejoiced  at  the  rain.  It  assuaged 
the  sultriness  of  the  weather;  and  when  the  water 
flowed  off  the  streets,  they  reappeared  with  a  clean  and 
refreshed  aspect,  that  was  agreeable  to  everybody, — 
that  is  to  say,  who  was  not  blind,  like  Lisette.  The 
flowers  in  the  windows  brightened  up  at  the  shower,  and, 
as  the  poor,  wet,  drooping,  sightless  child  passed  along 
the  streaming  pavement  underneath  them,  seemed  to 
speak  blithely  to  her:  "Why,  Lisette,  Lisette,  if  our 
leaves  were  as  well  sprent  with  spray  as  your  curls,  we 
should  brighten  up  the  more  merrily."  But  Lisette 
could  not  see  the  blithe  brightness  of  the  flowers. 

Somewhat  further  on  she  slowly  dragged  herself,  till 
her  strength  failed,  and  she  was  carried  home  in  the 
servant's  arms. 

Directly,  the  sun  shone  out,  warmly  and  radiantly ; 
but  before  its  beams  had  evaporated  the  globes  of  spray 
on  the  flower-leaves,  Lisette  had  a  fever.  A  hot,  raging 
fever,  of  torturing  thirsts,  and  throbbings  of  the  brain, 
and  achings  of  the  bones,  which  violently  shook  the 
frame  of  the  submissive,  uncomplaining  child.  For  days 
and  days  the  fever  wrapped  her  in  its  sheet  of  flame, 
like  a  youthful  martyr  consuming  at  the  stake.  When, 
at  last,  it  subsided,  and  left  her,  she  began  to  sink. 

Plants,  excluded  from  the  light,  do  not  thrive,  their 
verdant  foliage  blanching  in  the  dark,  and  the  stems 
turning  to  wax.  So,  too,  the  blind  have  delicate  bodies, 
shallow  veins,  and  indifferent  health.  And  thus,  Lisette 
never  being  strong  or  robust,  when  the  fever  left  her, 
her  cheeks  grew  white  as  alabaster,  her  temples  hollow, 
her  hands  thin  and  transparent,  and  she  began  to  sink. 

Dimlier,  every  hour,  burned  the  taper  of  Lisette's 


LISETTE.  117 

life,    its   golden    arrows    quenched   in   the    narrowing 
horizon. 

As  Lisette  lay  upon  the  pillow  scarcely  yielding  to 
the  slight  pressure  of  her  head,  her  curls  spread  out 
on  it,  her  eyes  dancing  more  restlessly  than  ever  from 
weakness,  the  slender  cross  on  her  breast  weighing  down 
her  short  breath,  and  her  whispered  syllables  barely 
audible, — no  wonder  the  tears  of  parents  and  friends, 
standing  around  her  bed,  fell,  profusely  as  the  fatal  rain. 

Lisette,  feeling  their  tears  dropping  like  blood  upon 
her  face,  besought  them  not  to  weep  so  bitterly.  It  had 
been  the  Saviour's  wish,  that  her  life  should  be  a  Night, 
filled  with  voices  as  with  dreams ;  whereas,  by  anointing 
her  eyes  even  with  clay,  He  might  have  let  the  sunlight 
dawn  into  them.  Nevertheless,  she  had  been  cheerful 
and  contented,  knowing  it  was  best  that  the  night  should 
continue,  and  that  saintly  guides  directed  her  footsteps 
in  the  darkness.  And  now  that  Death  was  at  the  door, 
she  would  not  draw  back  her  hand  from  his,  though  the 
touch  of  it  was  cold,  but  would  receive  him  as  a  messen 
ger,  clear  sighted,  and  come  to  lead  her  to  Paradise. 
Lifting  up  her  visionless  orbs,  and  locking  her  wan  fingers 
together,  she  prayed, — "Not  my  will  be  done,  but 
Thine."  And,  again,  she  besought  the  weepers,  not  to 
weep  so  bitterly. 

Children,  Lisette's  playmates  and  companions,  hearing 
that  she  was  dying,  came  to  bid  her  farewell.  They 
were  not  restrained.  One  by  one,  they  approached  her. 
She  clasped  their  faces  between  her  hands,  then  threw 
her  arms  around  their  necks,  kissed  them,  and  bade  each 
of  them  good-by. 

When  the  mourning  children  had  gone,  Lisette,  who 
was  getting  feebler  and  feebler,  took  leave  of  the  nearer 


118  LISETTE. 

and  dearer  inmates  of  her  home.  We  have  not  the 
heart  to  dwell  upon  that  painful  scene. 

The  sun  had  set,  and  the  moon  and  evening  star  arisen. 
Lisette,  white  as  a  ghost,  lay  speechless,  and  just  breath 
ing.  The  slender  cross  was  scarcely  moved  by  her  al 
most  quiescent  breast, — being  still,  like  an  anchor  fixed 
on  Faith.  The  arteries  of  her  wrist  and  temple  stirred 
not.  Only  her  eyes  were  open,  and  the  pale-blue  iris 
danced  more  restlessly  than  ever  before. 

Lisette  aroused  herself. 

"I  see," — she  said. 

"  What,  my  dear  daughter  ?"  her  Mother  asked,  think 
ing  to  supply  some  last  want. 

But  Lisette  wanted  nothing ;  she  was  absorbed  by  a 
Vision. 

"I  see  Our  Lady,"  she  said,  "and  the  Saviour,  and 
Heaven." 

Like  the  Apostle  Stephen. 

They  looked  upon  her  face ;  there  was  rapture  there. 
But  Lisette  was  dead ;  yet,  blind  no  more,  blind  no 
more. 


CAMILLE  BRUSHE,  THE  PORTRAIT 
PAINTER. 

A  TALE  OF  THE  FINE  AETS. 
"  There  is  a  pleasure  in  painting  which  only  painters  know." 

«  CAMILLE  BRUSHE,  come  here,  sir !"  said  Recorder 
Genois,  yesterday  morning,  addressing  one  of  a  crowd 
of  prisoners  seated  on  a  bench  before  him. 

An  individual  dressed  in  the  flashy  style  of  Robert 
Macaire,  as  that  type  usually  figures  in  the  play  or  bal 
let,  arose  from  the  bench,  and  stood  up  before  his 
honor. 

Recorder — What  do  you  do  for  a  living  ? 

Camille — Sir,  I  am  an  artist.  [  We  translate  Camille' s 
excellent  and  fluent  French  into  indifferent  English.] 
Painting  is  my  vocation.  I  delineate  the  human 
form  divine.  For  the  larger-sized  portraits  I  demand 
only  twenty-five  dollars :  while  I  execute  the  smaller 
sorts — magnified  miniatures — for  the  insignificant  sum 
of  nine  dollars  and  a  quarter.  Would  your  honor  like 
to  sit  for  me  ? 

Recorder — I  am  sitting  for  you  now  !  You  are  charged 
in  the  affidavit  beside  me,  with  painting  the  face  of 
Roger  Bontemps,  on  yesterday  afternoon.  What  have 
you  to  say  ? 

Camille  (smiling  and  shrugging  his  shoulders) — Only 
of  Roger  Bontemps  ?  I  have  painted  the  faces  of  thou 
sands  !  Gentlemen  and  ladies  of  the  first  circle  of  soci 
ety,  distinguished  foreigners  visiting  our  city,  celebrated 
actors  and  actresses  in  every  variety  of  cos 

10  (119) 


120  CAMILLE  BRUSHE,  THE 

aboriginal  chieftains  and  their  picturesque  squaws,  all 
have  had  their  faces  painted  by  me.  I  have  been  re 
puted  to  possess  the  sublimity  of  Angelo,  the  beauty  of 
RafFael,  the  exquisite  tints  of  Titian,  the  softness  of 
Lorraine,  the — 

Recorder — But,  in  the  case  of  Roger  Bontemps,  in 
stead  of  taking  his  likeness,  he  deposes  that  you  black 
ened  his  physiognomy  like  a  Moor.  Confine  yourself 
to  the  allegation. 

Camille  (recollecting  himself) — Ah !  A  thousand  par 
dons.  Will  your  honor  hear  me  for  my  cause,  and  be 
silent  that  you  may  hear  ? 

Recorder — Provided  you're  neither  noisy  nor  tedious. 

Camille  (adjusting  his  dilapidated  finery) — Thanks ! 
The  facts  are  these  :  Roger  Bontemps  repaired  to  my 
studio.  "Are  you  the  eminent  Camille  Brushe?"he 
inquired.  "  The  last,"  was  my  modest  rejoinder.  "  Paint 
me,"  said  he,  "  as  I  am — with  these  brandy-blossoms  on 
my  nose."  He  threw  himself  in  the  chair.  I  prepared 
the  canvass,  the  colours,  the  pencils.  I  was  inspired. 
Momently  his  counterfeit  presentment  grew  beneath  my 
touch.  The  resemblance  was  perfect.  Intimate  acquaint 
ances  dropping  in,  bowed  to  the  picture,  and  compli 
mented  me  as  the  creator  of  Bontemps  himself.  The 
very  musquitoes  ceased  to  torment  the  original,  and 
buzzed  round  the  copy.  Incidentally,  I  mentioned  to 
Bontemps  the  price  of  the  portrait — twenty-five  dollars. 
"  I  shall  pay  you,"  said  Bontemps,  "  next  year."  Sir, 
I  require  for  my  existence,  food,  drink,  clothing,  and  a 
cigar.  Unhappily,  money  is  necessary  to  procure  these 
indispensable  trifles.  I  looked  at  Bontemps,  my  brush 
held  out  at  the  extremity  of  one  hand,  my  palette  at 
that  of  the  other — vermillion  and  gamboge  running 
together  in  my  confusion.  "  Sir,  you  must  pay  me  to- 


PORTRAIT    PAINTER.  121 

clay :  now,  or  never !"  I  responded.  Calmly,  your 
honor;  calmly,  though  firmly.  "Dauber!"  exclaimed 
Bonternps.  Your  honor  is  listening — dauber!  And  to 
me,  who  have  been  reputed  to  possess  the  sublimity  of 
Angelo,  the  beauty  of  Raffael,  the  exquisite  tints  of 
Titian,  the  softness  of  Lorraine,  the — 

Recorder — Never  mind  the  catalogue.  Proceed — 
proceed. 

Camille — I  proceed!  "Dauber,"  exclaimed  Bon- 
temps,  « I  shall  not  pay  you  at  all.  Keep  your  vile 
caricature,  and  hang  it  up  like  a  weasel  before  a  grange  !" 
Conceive  my  fury  at  this  insult !  Should  I  cut  the  throat 
of  the  swindler  and  false  connoisseur  ?  Red  visions 
haunted  my  imagination,  till  I  thought  of  the  strict 
Larue,  and  spectres  in  white  usurped  their  place.  "No," 
I  reflected,  "  I  will  not  guillotine  him  with  a  razor, 
,but  I  will  draw  the  black  features  of  his  soul  upon  his 
turgid  countenance  !"  I  mixed  a  gallipot  of  india-ink; 
in  it  I  clipped  my  heaviest  brush ;  I  seized  the  abusive 
Bontemps  by  the  neck ;  and  I  painted  him,  as  your 
honour  avers,  like  a  blackamoor.  This  is  the  head  and 
front  of  my  offending.  I  have  finished." 

The  Recorder  declared  that  the  case  was  an  odd  one, 
to  say  the  least,  and  thought  it  best,  as  neither  of  the 
parties  was  over  respectable,  to  bind  them  to  keep  the 
peace  for  the  present,  and  concluded  by  saying  that  he 
should  be  more  severe  upon  them  the  next  time,  should 
they  be  brought  before  him  again. 

Roger  Bontemps,  who  had  not  gotten  altogether  clear 
of  the  ink,  went  off  with  rather  a  dark  expression  on 
his  visnomy,  and  Camille  Brushe  with  very  much  the 
air  of  Robert  Macaire,  triumphant  in  his  roguery. 


A  TOUCHING  STORY. 

"  She  stept  aside — 

'Twas  partly  love,  and  partly  shame, 
And  partly  'twas  a  bashful  art." 

Coleridge. 

WHEN  Miss  Harriet  Martineau,  some  years  ago,  visited 
New  Orleans,  among  other  places  in  the  United  States, 
it  was  well  known  here  that  she  laid  regular  siege  to 
Col.  Grymes,  a  gentleman  of  the  Bar,  as  distinguished 
for  his  eloquence  and  success  in  practice,  as  for  his 
extensive  erudition,  both  professional  and  general.  Now, 
with  all  his  eloquence  and  learning,  the  Colonel  was 
ever  a  lover  of  a  good  jest,  and  a  wonderful  quiz, — a 
character  which  he  has  not  abandoned  with  advancing 
years. 

On  a  certain  occasion,  the  deaf  old  bas-bleu,  cheek  by 
jowl  with  the  Colonel,  thought  fit  to  utter  a  eulogy  upon 
the  ladies  of  the  South.  They  were  so  beautiful,  so 
graceful,  so  elevated  in  their  sentiments,  so — 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Martineau,"  interrupted  the 
Colonel,  "they  have  one  grand  fault,"  and  the  eyes  of 
the  lawyer  twinkled  with  mischief. 

"A  fault!  Have  they  a  fault?  Pray,  what  is  it?" 
demanded  the  blue-stocking,  producing  her  tablets  with 
eagerness. 

"  Too  fond  of  drink  !"  whispered  the  Colonel,  mali 
ciously.  "  Nine-tenths  of  the  young  ladies  of  the  South, 
whether  owing  to  the  climate,  or  sectional  manners, 

(122) 


A   TOUCHING    STORY.  123 

retire  nightly  to  their  couches  IN  A  STATE  OF  ABSOLUTE 

INTOXICATION  !" 

Miss  Martineau's  big  blue  orbs  almost  dropped  from 
their  sockets  with  amazement,  and  the  hyperbolical 
slander  may  be  found  to-day  so  recorded  in  her  "  Travels 
in  America  !"  The  poor  dame  was  as  badly  hoaxed  as 
Captain  Marryatt  was  in  Louisville,  relative  to  the 
gambling  propensities  of  the  young  men  of  the  southern 
portion  of  the  Republic. 

Apropos  of  the  foregoing  veracious  anecdote,  listen  to 
the  following,  none  the  less  credible : 

An  acquaintance  of  ours,  who  shall  be  nameless,  an 
elegant  gentleman,  and  as  susceptible  as  he  was  a  chival 
rous  admirer  of  the  sex, — the  other  day,  was  comfortably 
lounging  in  his  office,  and  looking  out  upon  Camp  street, 
when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  the  splendid  dress", 
superb  carriage,  and  superlative  loveliness  of  a  lady 
passing  down  the  street,  on  whom  his  regards  at  once 
became  riveted.  Instantly  he  satisfied  himself  that  she 
was  a  belle, — the  daughter  or  wife  of  some  one  of  our 
wealthiest  citizens, — "  the  glass  of  fashion,  and  the 
mould  of  form."  Never  did  Eastern  devotee  gaze  with 
more  ardent  adoration  upon  the  shrine  of  his  divinity, 
than  did  our  friend  upon  the  attractive  vision — all  beauty 
compassed  in  a  female  form, — passing  by  the  window 
of  his  office. 

But,  see,  she  hesitates  in  her  promenade — she  pauses — 
she  turns  into  a  quiet  and  retired  alley !  What  can  be 
her  object,  going  thus  where  no  lady  was  ever  seen  to 
go  before  ?  Heavens  !  can  so  magnificent  a  creature  be 
engaged  in  an  intrigue  ?  No,  it  is  some  divine  mission 
of  charity  which  diverts  her  steps  from  the  ordinary 
thoroughfare.  Yet,  it  cannot  be, — for  why  does  she 
look  around  so  suspiciously  ?  Mon  Dieu  !  who  is  the 
10* 


124  A   TOUCHING    STORY. 

happy  man  she  seeks  !  For — observe — she  raises  her 
hand,  withdrawing  it  from  her  bosom !  Our  friend 
leans  from  out  of  the  window — yes,  it  is  the  signal ! 
How  his  heart  beats  with  the  excitement  of  a  mingled 
curiosity  and  envy  !  Is  she  not  producing  a  billet-doux  ? 
To  be  sure,  to  be  sure ! 

Ha !  What  ?  Oh,  countrymen !  what  a  fall  was 
there !  It  is  not  a  signal  she  is  making — it  is  not  a 
love  epistle  she  is  producing !  She  has  drawn  from  her 
bosom — where  it  rose  and  fell,  "  like  a  light  barge,  safe- 
moored," — a  bottle!  SHE  STEPPED  ASIDE  TO  TAKE  A 
DRINK  ! 

Our  friend  withdrew  his  gaze,  and  became  a  hardened 
and  inexorable  misogynist ! 


JAQUES  PASSE,  THE  MESMERIC 
PICKPOCKET. 

JAQUES  PASSE  was  produced  in  the  Recorder's  Court 
yesterday,  in  consequence  of  an  affidavit  made  against 
htm,  charging  him  with  having  that  day  picked  the 
pockets  of  Mr.  Michael  Slowman,  a  stranger,  temporarily 
visiting  the  city. 

Mr.  Slowman  was  present  during  the  trial,  and  was 
evidently  a  plain,  good-natured,  unsuspecting  man,  who, 
if  he  had  had  his  own  way,  would  have  forgiven  the 
culprit,  and  presented  him,  besides,  with  several  small, 
untcchnical  treatises  on  larceny,  of  the  American  Tract 
Society,  gratis.  Unhappily,  he  did  not  have  his  own 
way. 

The  peculiarity  of  Mr.  Passe  is  his  head.  Its  shape 
is  an  elongated  oval,  the  exact  duplicate  of  a  goose-egg, 
with  the  smaller  end  representing  the  occipital  boss,  and 
a  contracted,  comical  phiz,  very  much  wrinkled,  the  nose 
a  pug,  and  the  eyes  inverted  crescents,  carved  on  the 
big,  obtuse  end.  What  adds  to  the  singularity  of  the 
creature's  top-knot,  is  the  fact,  that  two-thirds  of  it — 
and  they  the  posterior  part — are  absolutely  destitute  of 
hair,  leaving  a  few  thin  tufts  above  his  forehead,  which 
he  combs  straightforward  and  down,  until  they  mingle 
with  his  eye-brows — as  though  Time,  slipping  up  behind 
Jaques,  had  made  a  sudden  scythe-reap  at  his  caput,  but 
succeeded  only  in  mowing  his  rear-locks  !  In  other 
physical  respects,  Passe  is  quite  like  the  Courteous 
Reader,  except  that  he  is  not  commonly  so  well  dressed. 

(125) 


126  JAQUES   PASSE,    THE 

"  Jaques  Passe,"  said  the  Recorder,  "you  are  cited 
before  me,  in  this  affidavit,  for  picking  the  pockets  of 
the  gentleman  near  you,  Mr.  Michael  Slowman." 

Mr.  Slowman  blushed  benevolently,  as  much  as  to 
say :  "I  dislike  this  matter,  I  regret  it  with  my  whole 
heart.  The  man  is  poor,  necessity  goaded  him  into 
crime.  Let  us  forgive  him,  and  thereby  put  a  coal  of 
fire  on  his  extremely  odd  head." 

Jaques  winked  one  of  his  crescents  towards  Mr.  Slow 
man,  looking,  for  the  nonce,  very  much  like  Jupiter 
snuffing  the  moon.  The  rapping  of  the  Recorder's 
knuckles  interrupted  the  ocular  eclipse. 

"Are  you  guilty,  or  not  guilty,  Mr.  Passe?"  asked 
his  honor. 

"  The  question  is  brief  and  concise,"  responded  Mr. 
Passe.  "One,  two,  three,  four,  five,  six;  six  words. 
Upon  the  faith  of  a  chevalier,  I  cannot  answer  under — 
under  two  hundred  and  fifty  !" 

"  Come,  sir,  you  can  reply  yes  or  no  ;  can  you  not  ?" 
the  Recorder  demanded,  a  good  deal  amused  by  the 
other's  eccentricity. 

"  To  the  satisfaction  of  my  conscience,  I  could ;  but, 
I  fear,  not;  to  the  conviction  of  your  honor's  judgment, 
or  that  of  my  amiable  neighbor,  Mr.  Bowman" — 

"Miserable  being, — Slowman,"  corrected  that  in 
dividual. 

"I  accept  the  amendment,"  said  Jaques,  with  alder- 
manic  urbanity* 

"  You're  forgetting  the  main  question,  however,"  the 
Recorder  suggested. 

Mr.  Passe  bowed. 

"In  two  hundred  and  fifty  words,  then,  I  am  a  native 
of  France,  and  the  last  scion  of  a  noble  family.  At 
tached  to  the  ancien  regime,  revolution  deprived  me  of 


MESMERIC    PICKPOCKET.  '127 

my  title,  and  political  proscription  of  my  estates.  Still, 
means  enough  had  been  invested  in  foreign  funds  by  my 
paternal  predecessor,  to  enable  me  to  complete  my  colle 
giate  career  with  distinction.  But,  in  revolutionary  and 
democratic  France,  what  public  avenue  was  left  open  to 
me,  born  an  aristocrat,  and — if  I  may  proclaim  it  in  a 
Republic — an  aristocrat  in  sentiment  ?  None,  positively 
none  !  Yet,  with  a  mind,  an  esprit,  and  a  name  culti 
vated  as  mine  had  been,  could  I  remain  inactive,  idle, 
plunged  in  oisivete'  ?  Never,  never  !  I  returned  to  my 
studies.  Books  were  my  companions.  I  explored  the 
labyrinths  of  learning,  I  researched  among  the  arcana 
of  life.  At  this  era — this  crisis  of  my  existence,  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  Mesmerism.  Cieux !  what  a  wonder 
ful  science !  It  was  what  I  had  desiderated  in  philosophy. 
It  was  the  sine  qua  non,  the  dolce  far  niente,  the  je  ne 
sais  quoi,  the  what's-name !  How  charmant !  I  was 
pleased,  raised,  refined,  ravi !  What  to  me  now  were 
revolutions  and  proscriptions  ?  Go  thy  ways,  Old  World ! 
cry  Vive  la  Republique !  Royaume !  Empire !  Napoleon 
Oncle !  Napoleon  Neveu !  Sic  transit  gloria  mundi,  sages 
have  ever  said  of  thee.  For  me,  I  was  planted  on  the 
Pou  Sto  of  that  eminent  bore,  Archimedes,  and  with  his 
screw  was  opening  an  artesian  well  through  thy  myste 
ries.  What  exclaims  the  pious  monk  in  the  solitude  of 
his  cell? 

Rot  kikiper  kikipot  put  paase  malf. 
Ncc  petotin  petetac  tic  torche  lorgne." 

The  Recorder,  becoming  impatient  here,  said,  "  Mr. 
Passe,  'a  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing.'  I  fear 
you  have  intoxicated  yourself  with  shallow  draughts." 

The  policeman  who  superintends  the  lock-up,  inter 
rupted  his  honor,  to  answer  solemnly,  that  «Mr.  Passe 


128"  JAQIIES    PASSE,    THE 

hadn't  had  a  drap  since  he  was  tuk,  but»was  a  nat'ral- 
born  fool." 

"  Hem.  Hashchehawksash,"  expectorated  Mr.  Passe, 
coolly.  "  In  the  outset,  I  remarked  that  I  must  be  al 
lowed  latitude  of  language  to  exonerate  myself  from  the 
foul  charge  alleged  against  me.  But  it  is  of  no  moment, 
n'importe.  I  submit.  I  am  content,  however  afflige',  to 
be  a  martyr.  Galileo  was  a  victim.  Galileo  was  called 
a  fool.  Jaques  Passe,  ci-devant  Chevalier,  Comte,  et 
cetera,  is  proud  to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  Galileo  !" 

Mr.  Slowman,  who  was  as  much  pleased  as  confounded 
by  the  erudition  of  Passe,  and  who  now  undoubtedly 
regarded  him  as  a  great  Professor,  not  as  a 'thief,  im 
plored  the  Recorder  to  "  permit  the  gentleman  to  pro 
ceed;"  which  request  his  honor  granted. 

"  I  emigrated  to  America,"  proceeded  Passe — «  more, 
I  confess,  in  search  of  subjects,  which  I  expected  to  find 
in  the  Republic,  than  liberty,  which  I  did  not  expect  to 
find.  (Par  parenthese,  do  you  call  my  appearance  HERE, 
liberty  ?)  I  learned  your  strange  language,  in  a  manner, 
I  practised  my  favorite  art,  pursued  my  favorite  science, 
with  success, — I  omit  particulars — till  the  day  before 
yesterday.  Walking,  then,  thoughtfully  along  one  of 
your  thoroughfares,  I  encountered  the  generous  and 
pure-hearted  Slowman.  Instantly  I  recognized  hi^n  as 
a  subject.  It  was  noon  in  the  public  street, — a  skepti 
cal  world  around  me.  « Now  for  iny  grand  test,  my 
miraculous  proof!'  said  I.  'I  will,  as  it  were,  pick  the 
pockets  of  Slowman,  thus  openly,  and  I  send  forth  the 
o'ermastering  volition  that  lie  shall  not  knoiv  it.'  A  few 
passes — a  strong  effort  of  the  concentrated  will — the 
pockets  were  emptied  of  their  treasures,  and — My  dear 
Mr.  Slowman  !  did  you  know  anything  of  the  circum 
stance  ?"  triumphantly  demanded  M.  Jaques  Passe. 


MESMERIC    PICKPOCKET.  129 

"  No,  not  till  the  watchman  took  you  up,  and  gave  mo 
my  purse  back  again,"  replied  the  victimized  subject,  in 
tones  of  ravished  conviction. 

"Just  so!"  said  the  experimenter,  both  crescents 
again  going  into  eclipse.  "The  vraisemblance  between 
a  scientific  feat  and  a  common  trick  of  the  thief,  was  so 
perfect  as  to  deceive  an  agent  of  the  police,  as  acute  as 
Vidocq.  Ha !  ha !  I  have  excelled  the  painter  who 
delineated  grapes  that  attracted  birds,  or  him  who  por 
trayed  a  fly  that  confounded  his  rival.  I  am  willing  to 
be  incarcerated  now,  your  honor !  J'ai  fini." 

In  spite  of  the  urgent  remonstrances  of  Slowman, 
converted  from  a  prosecutor  to  an  advocate,  the  Recorder 
did  commit  Mr.  Jaques  Passe,  who  was  proved  to  be  no 
Frenchman,  but  a  quondam  school-master,  fallen  into 
vicious  habits,  to  the  Workhouse  for  thirty  days,  at  hard 
labor.  However,  Mr.  Slowman  has  repeatedly  applied, 
though  in  vain,  to  see  the  Professor,  in  order  to  hear 
him  discourse  upon  Mesmerism,  and  persuade  him  to 
impart  to  his  admirer  a  few  more  practical  lessons. 

The  fascination  of  some  men,  and  the  simplicity  of 
others ! 


PICTURE  FRAMERS'  SHOPS,  AND  THOSE 
WHO  PATRONISE  THEM. 

PICTURE-FKAMERS'  shops,  and  generally  on  Royal  and 
Chartres  streets,  are  among  our  most  frequent  places 
of  resort.  We  prefer  those  shops  where  the  gender  of 
the  clerks  is  feminine,  perhaps  because  we  perceive  that 
we  are  regarded  as  a  connoisseur  by  the  quick  sloe-eyes 
which — hang  modesty  ! — sparkle  none  the  less  brightly 
on  our  entrance.  We  believe,  also,  that  we  are  looked 
upon  as  a  Distinguished  Legal  Gentleman  (coming  as 
we  do  from  the  police  courts),  and  the  flattering  unction, 
laid  to  our  hearts,  relieves  that  pedestrian  pleurisy  which 
so  many  reporters  die  of. 

The  number  of  old  men  one  meets  in  these  shops,  is 
note-worthy.  More  often  than  not,  you  will  see  a  head 
bald  as  an  egg,  spectacled  eyes,  and  a  wrinkled  face, 
immediately  opposite  some  highly  colored  engraving  or 
mezzotint,  representing  Beauty  Bathing ;  or,  Pleasant 
Dreams — a  lovely  virgin  asleep,  careless  of«musquitoes; 
or,  The  Way  they  Study  Medicine  in  France — being  a 
sketch  of  an  eighth  story  garret  in  Paris,  with  bottles, 
pipes,  skulls,  romances,  half  a  dozen  tipsy  young  men, 
and — as  many  plump  spirits  of  nuns  come  to  reproach 
them  for  their  idleness.  One  design,  however,  painted 
in  oil,  and  which  really  possesses  no  little  artistic  grace, 
always  excites  the  enthusiasm  of  the  smooth-pated  octo 
genarians.  You  may  see  it  on  the  thoroughfare  we  have 
first  named ;  and  do.  It  is  the  studio  of  an  artist;  busts, 

(130) 


PICTURE-FRAMERS'    SHOPS.  131 

half-finished  portraits  and  landscapes,  gallipots  and  a 
liberty-cap  on  the  shelf,  the  figure  of  the  painter  himself, 
palette  in  hand,  dimly  traced  in  the  back-ground,  and, 
in  the  fore-ground,  the  grand  attraction — a  lady  of  rank 
in  the  act  of  assuming  the  pose  of  Venus,  before  she 
disembarked  from  the  shell  that  bore  her  to  the  shore 
of  her  natal  sea.  The  egg-headed  old  men  that  are 
addled  by  the  charming  neglige  of  that  beautiful  lady  of 
rank! 

Less  venerable  visitors,  of  our  rude  sex,  are  encounter 
ed,  not  seldom,  in  the  picture-framers'  shops.  Such  is 
their  inherent  slavery  to  the  influence  of  the  fair, — most 
"unadorned,"  most  fair, — such  their  Alexandrine  twist 
of  the  neck,  adapting  it  so  well  to  stooping  beneath  the 
yoke  of  female  loveliness, — that  even  those  more  youthful 
and  unspectacled  eyes  will,  likewise,  cast  many  an  ad 
miring  glance  towards  the  unspiritual  ideals  we  have 
mentioned.  But  if  the  young  lip,  too,  has  a  brow, — is 
wreathed  with  a  moustache, — you  may  behold  the  eyes 
glitter  and  the  lip  tremble  with  delight,  before  dramatic 
views  of  the  Napoleon  Campaigns.  Glory  is  the  rival 
of  Woman,  with  young  men,  particularly  if  of  Gallic 
origin,  and,  as  was  the  case  with  the  great,  incomparable 
Soldier  himself,  in  many  instances,  the  triumphant  rival. 
While,  however,  the  parded  lip  quivers  in  the  presence 
of  a  scenic  Marengo  or  Austerlitz,  others  more  juvenile 
or  unsophisticate — guiltless  of  the  razor, — that  have 
never  felt  the  dewfall  pressure  of  a  kiss,  or  framed  the 
bluif  oaths  invented  in  Flanders, — others  grow  bloodless 
in  presence  of  the  frightful  etching  of  A  Tiger's  Attack, 
the  Wreck  of  a  Vessel,  or  an  Indian  Massacre. 

And  female  dilettanti   abstain  not  from  the  picture 
framers'  shops.     The  elder  sort — (read,   0,  Conscript 
Fathers!    and  weep  at  the  contrast!) — the  more  aged 
11 


132  PICTURE-FRAMERS'    SHOPS. 

females  invariably  stop  to  survey,  or  to  "buy,"  a  Saint. 
Those  mild-countenanced  dove-eyed  Purities,  with  long 
brown  curls,  or  snowy  hoods,  and  heads  ever  meekly 
drooped, — hung  up  in  her  chamber,  console  the  widow 
who  has  survived  her  girlhood's  love,  the  mother  whose 
children  have  wandered  from  her,  like  birds  of  summer, 
or  the  spinster,  with  unmelodious  voice,  sharp,  querulous 
features,  and  lean  body  prominent  with  bony  angles,  like 
little  arms  stuck  a-kimbo,  who,  for  many  years  before 
she  relapsed  into  a  zealot,  was  wont  to  exclaim,  touch- 
ingly,— 

"  I  never  loved  a  tree  or  flower, 
To  glad  me  with  his  soft  dark  eye, 

But  when  she  came  to  know  me  well, 
And  love  me,  it  was  shure  to  die!" 

In  this  last  category  of  the  patrons  of  the  picture- 
framers'  shops,  and  deserving  a  special  paragraph,  ob 
serve,  if  you  please, — that  splendid  Vision  of  Beauty  ! 
A  Human  Flower,  blooming  in  the  golden  sunniness  of 
the  South  !  Those  dark-lined,  but  slightly-touched,  high- 
arched  brows — like  slimmest  young  moons  draped  in 
clouds — those  deep  ebon-eyes,  wells  of  languor  and  ten 
derness — those  cheeks  enamelled  with  the  rosy  tints  of 
sea-shells — that  deer-like  form  superb,  moved  by  muscles 
of  steel  cased  in  velvet — that  presence  of  grace,  and 
holiness,  and  all  heavenly  charms  !  What  does  she  come 
to  see  ?  What  else,  than  that  most  gorgeous  and  most 
precious  picture  in  the  shop — framed  within  that  large, 
gilt  mirror  there, — HERSELF  ! 

And,  with  the  same  picture  Daguerreotyped  on  some 
of  the  more  sensitive  leaves  of  our  heart,  we  hurry  from 
the  frame  manufacturer's,  office-ward. 


COMPARATIVE  ANATOMY  EXEMPLIFIED. 

SERVED  Bullfinch  right,  for  selling  them  this  time  o* 
year  !  was  the  exclamation  of  everybody  who  witnessed, 
or  subsequently  heard  of  the  circumstance. 

What  circumstance,  in  the  name  of ! 

Stop — stop ;  no  swearing  !  Why  this  to  be  sure  : 
Bullfinch,  who  keeps  a  restaurant  on  Poydras  street, 
yesterday  had  the  hardihood  to  import  a  lot  of  fresh 
oysters  and  offer  them  for  sale.  Fortunately,  Teddy 
O'Bryan,  a  smart  fellow,  who  used  to  attend  the  dis 
secting-room  of  the  Medical  School  here,  and  is  an  ac 
quaintance,  though  a  slight  one,  of  Bullfinch's,  happened 
to  drop  in  the  restaurant.  Teddy  hadn't  a  dime  to  save 
him,  but  instantly  conceived  a  "longing,"  which  he 
afterwards  explained  obstetrically,  for  a  taste  of  the 
unseasonable  mollusks. 

"  Did  ye  know  them  oysters  had  an  anatomy !"  in 
quired  Teddy  of  Bullfinch. 

"A — what?"  said  Bullfinch,  who  don't  understand 
your  inkhorn  words,  albeit  he  rather  likes  the  sound  of 
them. 

"Anatomy.  Like  that  the  Professor  that  cuts  up 
folks  at  the  College,  explains  to  the  students,  darling," 
said  O'Bryan. 

"  No,  indeed  !"  cried  Bullfinch,  all  curiosity. 

«  Well,  it  is  thrue  what  I  am  telling  you.  Split  one 
of  them  oysters  open,  ma  vourneen,  and  I'll  demonsthrate 

(133) 


134  COMPARATIVE   ANATOMY   EXEMPLIFIED. 

it  to  you  better  than  Doctor  Stone  could  do  it  for  you  !" 
vowed  our  Irish  Agassiz. 

So  Bullfinch,  he  opened  a  very  plump  oyster  for 
Teddy. 

«  Will  you  drap  a  bit  of  salt  on  him,  jist  to  make  him 
lively  and  kick  out  his  legs?  Bah, — but  it's  too  late 
now.  Bad  luck  to  my  tongue,  it  was  pepper,  I  meant. 
Stop — Stop  man  !  It's  too  much  pepper  you've  put  on 
him.  I'll  e'en  swallow  this  fellow,  and  you  must  open 
another,  if  you  want  to  see  the  purtiest  glutceus  maximus 
ye  ever  heard  tell  on." 

So  Bullfinch,  he  opened  another  very  plump  oyster 
for  Teddy. 

But  O'Bryan  always  found  some  excuse  to  have  now 
a  little  salt,  now  a  little  pepper,  now  a  little  vinegar, 
and  now  a  little  mustard,  sprinkled  over  the  ugly-shelled 
tendernesses,  and  to  swallow  them  down  severally  with 
great  gusto.  Bullfinch,  he  began  to  stare — to  hesitate, 
to  object ;  but  Teddy  coaxed  him  on  with  a  ductus  corn- 
munis,  or  a  pectoralis  major,  or  an  encephalon,  or  a 
Museums  ANGULI  oms  ALJEQUE  NASI,  precisely — dear 
Doctor ! — as  two-thirds  of  the  sick  Bullfinches  are 
carried  away  by  the  biggest  talking  medical  men,  you 
know. 

At  length,  Teddy's  organ  of  digestion  was  crammed 
with  about  a  dozen  and  a  half  of  Bullfinch's  fattest 
Crustacea,  and  Teddy's  muscles  of  locomotion  were 
bearing  him  to  the  door,  when  the  restaurateur  cried 
out — 

«  Hello  !  Here,  you  !  Come  back  and  pay  me  for 
my  oysters!" 

Teddy  returned. 

"  You're  an  honest  man,  ar'nt  you  ?"  he  demanded, 
gravely. 


COMPARATIVE   ANATOMY   EXEMPLIFIED.  135 

"  Yes  !  But  that's  more  than  I  can  say  for  you  !" 
responded  Bullfinch. 

"St!  st!"  hissed  O'Bryan,  admonishingly.  "You 
work  for  your  living,  such  as  it  is — don't  you  ?" 

"  Yes  !  Confound  you !" 

"You're  not  very  well  off?  And  you've  a  large 
family  of  young  Bullfinches  ?  And  you  don't  want  to 
befoul  your  own  nest  ?  You  want  to  be  as  provident  a 
father  as  possible,  I  suppose  ?" 

"  Yes  !     What  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Teddy,  with  a  benevolent  smile 
irradiating  his  features,  the  utter  hypocrisy  of  which  was 
enough  to  make  his  guardian  angel  swear.  "  I  thought 
so,  I  thought  so.  I  am  rarely  desaved.  Bullfinch,  my 
innocent  bird,  I  charge  you  nothing  for  demonstrating 
to  you  the  anatomy  of  oysters  !  God  bless  you.  Good 
day  t'ye ;" — and  Teddy  O'Bryan  disappeared  through 
the  door. 

Such  a  laugh  !     Such  a  laugh  ! 

However,  served  Bullfinch  right  for  selling  them  this 
time  o'year !  was  the  exclamation  of  everybody  who 
witnessed,  or  subsequently  heard  of  the  circumstance. 

11* 


THE  FRUIT-SHOPS. 

WE  are  under  obligations  to  the  fruiterers, — the  keep 
ers  of  the  fruit-shops.  If  Washington  is  "  the  city  of 
magnificent  distances,"  emphatically  New  Orleans  is  the 
city  of  villanous  smells.  We  do  not  speak,  as  the 
traveller  in  Salmagundi,  of  "getting  to  windward  of 
Tukey  Squash,"  whom  Professor  Horner  has  demon 
strated  to  possess  a  peculiar  glandular  apparatus  analo 
gous  to  the  civet-cat's.  But  our  streets  literally  reek 
with  the  most  horrible  odors,  invariably  remarked  by 
strangers,  and  the  causes  of  which  are  obvious  enough 
to  all  who  will  employ  their  vision.  Hence  it  is,  that 
here  there  are  more  flowers  sold  than  in  any  other  city 
of  the  Ptepublic!  Every  populous  thoroughfare,  the 
doors  of  every  house  resorted  to  for  amusement,  are 
thronged  with  nosegay-venders. 

But,  when  the  heat  of  summer  beams  upon  us,  blight 
ing  the  flowers, — next,  in  fragrance  and  in  beauty,  are 
the  tastefully  arranged  rows,  festoons,  and  heaps  of 
tropical  fruits,  so  abundant  in  New  Orleans.  Generally, 
a  Spaniard  is  as  sure  to  be  the  seller  of  these  accomplished 
promises  of  departed  blooms,  as  a  perfumer  is  to  be  a 
Frenchman,  a  book-keeper  or  policeman  an  Irishman,  or 
a  «  contractor"  and  office-holder  a  Yankee.  Passing  by 
any  of  these  magazines  of  Pomona,  while  the  eye  is 
pleased  with  every  hue  of  the  spectrum,  and  every  variety 
of  sphere  and  oval,  and  wonders  at  the  presence  of  the 
dark  brown,  bandit-looking  descendant  of  Cortez,  what 
a  delicious,  seducing  aroma  hovers  around  the  stall, 

(130) 


THE   FRUIT-SHOPS.  137 

sweetening  the  breath  of  the  street,  and  suggesting,  to 
the  sensuous  imagination,  orchards  in  lovely  islands, 
where  the  foot  of  Tyranny,  sandalled  or  booted,  never 
intrudes,  and  you,  dear  reader,  lord  of  the  rich  planta 
tion  encompassing  you,  sit  beneath  the  cool,  shadowy, 
teeming  groves,  "  with  one  fair  minister"  at  your  side, 
the  song  of  the  mocking-bird  and  the  lightning-glancing 
wings  of  the  paroquet  overhead,  and,  in  the  remote  dis 
tance,  the  whispering  murmurs  of  the  subdued  Atlantic's 
coral  kissing  waves  ! 

For  all  this  appreciable  pleasure  and  intangible,  air- 
wrought  Cuban  Farm — touch  your  sombrero  thankfully 
to  the  bandit-looking,  melancholy  melon-merchant.  A 
Catholic  Irishman  must  doff  his  beaver  to  that  Orange 
man,  if  he  has  a  bit  of  poetry  in  him — Poetry  !  the 
Blarney  of  the  Muses !  Don't,  some  days  hereafter, 
turn  up  your  sensitive  nose  at  the  insignificant  dash  of 
mouldy  musk  you  detect  in  the  aforementioned  aromal 
emanations — consider  it  as  the  lavender  of  the  fruiterer's 
shelves — or,  hoary  and  old  Epicurean,  with  senses  still 
unblunted !  remember  that  all  things  must  fade,  and 
wither,  and  decay — even  as  your  Araminta,  whose  peach- 
like  cheeks,  cherry  lips,  bust  of  apples,  and  kisses  (0, 
vanished  youth !) — and  kisses  acrid-sweet,  like  the  juice 
of  the  pineapple — even  as  these  charms  you  beheld 
blanch  in  the  chill  of  sorrow,  and  now  know  they  are 
mouldering  in  the  grave  ! 

All  honor,  then,  to  the  fruiterers  ! — and  here — reader ! 
— share  with  us  these  newly-bought,  newly-gathered, 
mellow,  and  succulent  bananas  ! 


AUGUSTUS  DORMOUSE; 


AN  affidavit  was  made  by  Augustus  Dormouse  yester 
day  afternoon,  against  Clarence  Fitz-Butter,  for  burning 
him  with  a  burning-glass. 

Augustus  Dormouse,  being  sworn  by  the  Recorder, 
deposed :  Time  of  the  alleged  offence  was  about  two 
o'clock,  p.  M.,  on  Tuesday  afternoon.  Place,  shade  of  a 
tree,  on  the  Neutral  Ground.  Deponent  was  asleep ; 
was  oppressed  by  the  sultriness  of  the  weather,  and 
wished  for  a  little  repose.  Is  in  the  habit  of  reposing 
in  sultry  weather — generally  in  the  shade  of  a  tree,  in 
Canal  or  Rampart  street.  Finds  the  repose  conducive 
to  his  health.  Prefers  the  street,  on  account  of  the 
breeze.  Is  not  disturbed  by  dreams.  Was  quite  sound 
asleep  when  accused  came  across  him.  Felt  something 
sting  him  behind — on  the  back,  between  the  shoulders. 
Had  no  jacket  on.  Shirt  slightly  torn.  Sensation  like 
the  bite  of  a  chigre.  Pain  increased  till  it  felt  like  a 
coal  of  fire.  Screamed,  and  awoke.  Saw  accused  draw 
back  a  burning-glass,  and  slip  it  in  his  pocket.  Could 
not  be  mistaken  in  accused.  Identifies  him  now  by  a 
strawberry  mark  under  left  ear.  Complained  to  police, 
and  caused  accused  to  be  arrested. 

Cross-examined :  Does  not  consider  himself  a  va 
grant.  Is  of  a  poetical  temperament,  and  likes  the 
look  of  green  things.  Has  no  particular  residence. 
Does  small  chores  for  a  living.  Native  of  Indiana — of 

(138) 


AUGUSTUS   DORMOUSE.  139 

highly  respectable  family.  Can  read,  when  it  does  not 
hurt  his  eyes.  Yes,  commonly  hurts  his  eyes.  Has  no 
grudge  against  accused,  except  for  latter's  burning  him. 
Certain  was  burnt  on  the  back — between  the  shoulders. 
Could  not  say  positively  that  the  nape  of  his  neck  was 
not  scorched  some.  Cannot  see  behind.  Firmly  be 
lieves  accused  entertained  incendiary  designs. 

Clarence  Fitz-Butter,  a  quizzical-looking  vagabond, 
who  was  much  better  dressed  than  the  plaintiff,  and 
carried  several  stumps  of  cigars  in  his  pockets,  very 
offensive  to  the  smell,  and  an  incongruous  assortment  of 
burning,  mostly  spectacle,  glasses,  here  begged  the  Re- 
corder  to  allow  him  to  explain. 

The  Recorder  granted  the  request  of  the  prisoner. 

"  I  am  a  philosopher,"  observed  Fitz-Butter,  "  and  am 
peculiarly  inclined  to  the  investigation  of  light.  I  have 
perused  the  works  of  Herschel,  Davy,  Daguerre,  Fara 
day  and  Draper.  My  vest-pocket  is  a  laboratory.  In 
it  I  constantly  keep  a  supply  of  sun-glasses.  I  make  it 
a  point  to  draw  a  focus  as  often  as  possible.  I  wish  not 
to  allow  a  ray  to  pass  me.  Every  beam  I  subject  to  my 
glass.  Sir,  this  is  necessary,  with  my  theory  of  nature. 
I  am  of  the  opinion  that  everything  in  nature  is  combus 
tible,  or  it  is  not  combustible.  How  simple  an  arrange 
ment  !  how  concise  a  method !  Combustible — non-com 
bustible.  With  my  illuminated  foci,  I  explore  the  hidden 
arcana  of  nature.  I  carry  the  torch  into  her  darkest 
labyrinths.  I  apply  a  match  to  her,  and  she  reports,  or 
she  does  not  report.  I  have,  in  my  busy  and  devoted 
life,  accumulated  a  great  store  of  facts.  I  will  give 
your  honor  a  list  of  the  combustible  objects  in  nature — 
a  list" — 

«I  will  not  listen!"  said  the  Justice.  "What  have 
you  to  observe  relative  to  burning  Augustus  Dormouse  ?" 


140  AUGUSTUS   DORMOUSE. 

"  This,"  resumed  Fitz-Butter.  «  Accidentally,  I  en 
countered  the  prone  body  of  the  individual  responding 
to  the  appellation  of  Augustus  Dormouse.  Him  I  had 
never  seen  before,  and  therefore  not  examined.  Now,  was 
the  sleeper  combustible,  or  was  he  not  ?  Is  he — a  sala 
mander^  and  can  stand  fire  ?  With  the  thought,  instantly 
I  produce  my  sun-glass.  His  back  is  exposed — his 
shirt  being  torn  between  the  shoulders  ; — I  draw  a  focus 
on  the  exposed  skin.  I  lay  my  tablets  on  the  grass,  in 
readiness  to  record  any  important  and  wonderful  dis 
covery  I  may  make.  But  the  sleeper  stirs  in  his  sleep 
— he  is  combustible — he  wakes,  and  stares  with  bestial 
rage  upon  me.  Upon  me — a  philosopher  !  Nay,  more ; 
he  complains  to  the  police,  he  causes  my  arrest,  he 
heaps  upon  me  the  disgrace  of  a  public  exhibition  and  a 
penal  trial !  What  does  he  not  deserve  ?  I  appeal  to 
your  honor,  what  does  he  not  deserve?  Punish  the 
Vandal,  Recorder,  to  the  utmost  extent  the  laws  of  the 
country  and  your  official  oath  will  permit?" 

A  policeman,  here,  who  was  standing  beside  the 
prisoner,  but  glancing  off  at  the  crowd  of  spectators 
that  usually  throng  the  Recorder's  court,  rested  his 
hand  on  the  railing  near  Fitz-Butter.  The  latter,  avail 
ing  himself  of  a  strong  glare  of  light  shining  through 
the  window,  took  out  a  sun-glass  from  his  vest  pocket, 
and  produced  upon  the  policeman's  hand  a  small,  bril 
liant,  concentrated  spot  of  light  and  heat,  which  in  a 
few  seconds  swinged  the  aforesaid  rattle-grasper,  like  a 
drop  of  melted  lead. 

"  Hello  !  What  're  you  about  ?"  demanded  that  en 
raged  and  indignant  functionary. 

«  You  are  a combustible,"  remarked  the  mono- 
ideal  philosopher,  with  infinite  complacency. 

The  policeman  considered  himself  insulted. 


AUGUSTUS  DQRMOUSE.  141 

"You're  another!  Dog  my  cats!"  replied  the  furi 
ous  Charley,  whom  respect  for  the  court  alone  restrained 
from  following  the  recrimination  with  a  blow. 

"Pshaw!  pshaw!"  said  the  Recorder,  "this  whole 
affair  is  extremely  ridiculous.  Deprive  Eitz-Butter  of 
his  sun-glasses ;  and — sir  ! — keep  your  light  dark,  or,  in 
the  event  of  a  second  complaint  against  you,  I  shall 
send  you  to  prison.  And  you,  Dormouse,  if  I  hear  of 
you  sleeping  under  the  trees  of  the  street  again,  I  shall 
transfer  you  to  the  Work-house  as  a  vagrant." 

This  case  being  disposed  of,  the  court  proceeded  to 
its  ordinary  business. 


BONY  PYBAS,  THE  GREAT  NEWSBOY- 

THE  edible  frog — grenouille — is  a  small  animal,  but 
what  a  big  voice  it  has  !  The  roar  of  the  lean  kine  of 
Bashan,  lowing  for  husks !  Young  Pybas  is  small — 
quite  small ;  but  what  an  enormous  vocality  he  possesses  ! 
It  is  his  "cries"  which  have  dilated  his  larynx  to  a 
goiterous  amplitude.  "  Pic-a-yune  and  Del-ta  !  Pic-a- 
yune  and  Del-ta !"  those  not  rythmless  iterations  some 
times  fairly — as  in  the  case  of  overjoyed  crickets — lifting 
him  off  those  mere  curved  pegs,  his  legs. 

Bony  Pybas  is  a  Newsboy. 

The  most  active,  perhaps,  of  the  profession.  He  is 
the  avant  courier  of  the  Cock,  and  his  thunderous  halloo 
awakes  the  Watchdog's  morning  bark.  Yonder  Charlie, 
sleeping  on  his  post,  starts  from  his  guilty  slumber,  like 
the  overcome  and  dreaming  sentinel  roused  by  the  foe- 
man's  gun,  shot  within  the  lines  ! 

With  a  shout,  and  long  before  the  lazy  sun  is  up, 
Bony  rises  from  his  bed  of  straw.  He  gropes  through 
his  mother's  darkened  room — steps  over  a  prostrate 
sister  reclined  upon  the  floor — dips  his  foot  into  a  wash- 
tub — kisses  the  waked  and  crowing  baby — receives  his 
widowed  parent's  hearty  blessing — slakes  his  healthy 
thirst  at  the  uniced  cistern-spigot  in  the  yard,  regardless 
of  wiggletails — and,  with  shining,  unwashed  face  emerges 
into  the  silent  and  deserted  area  of  Love  street. 

Not  a  shoe  is  on  his  feet,  and  one  buckskin  suspender 
upholds  his  humble  pants,  newly  patched  behind  by  the 
girl  scarce  larger  than  himself,  whom  he  daily  dwarfs 

(142) 


Bony  Pyb;is.  the  gresil  N«:\vsboy. — F"v   1  I- 


BONY  PYBAS,  THE    GREAT  NEWSBOY.  143 

by  stepping  athwart  her  recumbent  form.  Jacketless, 
and  all  but  hatless,  yet  swiftly  he  moves,  his  head 
meditatively  turned  aside,  pondering  the  speculation  of 
the  day.  Ever  and  anon  he  clubs  his  hands  in  the  fashion 
of  sea-shell,  and  applying  them  to  his  mouth,  blows 
shrilly,  like  a  "  tiger"  of  Neptune  tooting  up  his  dolphins 
from  seaweed  pastures. 

Before  the  steam-engine  which  strikes  off  the  morning 
edition  has  ceased  to  clatter  and  cough,  Bony  has  reached 
the  printing  office. 

Editors  are  smiling  in  the  arms  of — Morpheus,  at 
pleasant  visions  of  the  eclat  of  their  leaders ;  weary 
reporters,  often,  with  closed  eyes,  are  screaming  inarticu 
lately  at  an  incubus  of  a  Surgeon,  sitting  upon  their 
cracker-crammed  stomachs,  and  leisurely  sawing  off  their 
lower  extremities ;  while  reposing  typemen,  from  fore 
man  to  devil,  are  wandering,  in  spirit,  through  rural 
fairy  lands,  bibbing  at  mossy  springs,  and  kidnapping 
"Ethiops  sweet"  from  clustering  blackberry  bushes. 

Only  the  dusky  engineer  and  his  two  assistants  are 
up,  in  the  gas-lighted  press-room,  and  hard  at  work. 
Forward  to  their  midst,  boldly,  and  like  a  man  of  intelli 
gence,  steps  Bony  Pybas,  the  small  newsboy, — so  small, 
he  seems  a  dot  under  the  tall  engineer,  and  makes  with, 
him  an  exclamation  point ! 

Bony  is  a  favourite,  on  account  of  his  industry,  and 
always  going  at  once  to  business.  So,  salutations  passed, 
he  inquires,  in  his  sepulchral  tones — which  sound,  rising 
up  from  him,  like  the  bass  buzz  of  a  humble-bee  bur 
rowed  in  the  earth — what  are  the  contents  of  the  morn 
ing  paper  ? — at  each  answer  calculating  the  probable 
sale  he  may  effect  before  noon.  Somewhat  thus  : 

"  Anything  odd  about  Scott  and  Pierce  ?     Is  more 
said  about  improving  the  mouth  of  the  Mississippi  river  ? 
12 


144  BONY  PYBAS,  THE   GREAT   NEWSBOY. 

Or  concerning  the  policy  of  Mexico  ?  Nothing  in  rela 
tion  to  capital  punishment,  eh  ?  The  explosion  of  the 
St.  James,  ha  ?  The  robbery  of  the  dead,  hum  ?  Have 
you  another  witty  divorce  case  ?  Did  Mr.  Pipps  drop 
in  yesterday,  and  say  anything  queer  and  jocose  ?  Got 
a  literary  article  full  of  poetical  figures  ;  or  one  of  those 
so-so-ish  sketches  by  the  new  chap  ?  Have  those  friends 
of  mine,  the  reporters,  had  another  good  dinner  lately  ? 
Did  the  Councils  meet  last  night,  so  that  I  may  go  by 
their  houses  ?  for  Aldermen  never  buy  a  paper,  unless 
it  contains  a  report  of  their  proceedings." 

To  which,  and  many  more  such  interrogatories,  the 
engineer — with  a  stick,  between  whiles,  touching  off 
experimental  squibs  of  steam — good-naturedly  replies. 

"Well,  Bony,"  he  adds,  handing  him  a  bundle  of 
moist,  sweet-smelling,  fresh  and  neatly  folded  papers, 
the  cream  of  the  impression — "  here's  the  Butcher's 
File  ;  and  good  luck  to  you  to-day,  my  little  Man  !" 

"Pic-a-yune  and  Del-ta !"  in  the  big  voice  of  the 
small  newsboy,  half  opens  the  sleep-oppressed  eyelids 
of  the  snoozing  sun,  which  lights  young  Bony  to  the 
Market-houses. 

There's  a  stir  among  the  beef-men — they  recognise 
the  drum-notes  of  the  paper-vender,  and  (startling 
sight !)  with  cleavers,  and  saws,  and  whittles,  and  long, 
sharp-pointed  files,  and  aprons  spotted  with  blood,  the 
plethoric  dealers  in  flesh  surround  the  tiny  news-seller ! 

But  there  is  no  danger  to  him  from  those  gory  instru 
ments.  His  bullock's  throat  may  be  tempting,  but  his 
cherub's  form  is  his  protection.  In  his  morsels  of  hands, 
and  standing  on  tip-toe — heedless  of  knives — he  uplifts 
the  mollifying  Cerberus-sops,  the  wished-for  papers — 
Picayune,  or  Delta — and  so,  dexterously  diverts  the 
armed  butcher-men  towards  the  editors'  columns. 


145 

But  what  is  Bony  doing  now  ?  One  paper  he  lays 
upon  a  stall-block,  and  the  butchers — still  the  butchers  ! 
— kindly  lay  upon  it,  one  a  slice  of  beef,  another  a  chop 
of  mutton,  another  a  bit  of  pork,  and  a  coffee-dealer  a 
large  roll  of  bread. 

"  Our  good  will,"  say  the  Market-men,  "  for  coming 
before  the  customers,  so  that  we  can  read  the  papers. 
It's  only  what  you  merits,  Mr.  Pybas  !" 

What  an  absurd  prejudice  that  was — originating  with 
some  dyspeptic,  rice-eating  legislators — which  excludes 
butchers  from  the  jury  box  ! 

Already,  before  any  of  his  professional  brethren  have 
risen  from  their  trundle-beds,  has  Bony  disposed  of 
thirty  or  more  of  the  city  papers. 

But,  before  he  revisits  the  printing-office,  he  carries 
the  presents  of  the  marketers  to  his  home,  in  Love 
street. 

His  widowed  mother  is  now  laundressing  in  the  tub, 
the  baby  more  awake  and  inclined  to  crow  than  ever, 
and  the  little  girl,  his  sister,  who  will  never  grow  any 
more  because  he  stepped  over  her  body,  is  busily  patch 
ing  another  pair  of  Bony's  pants.  They  all  welcome 
"  Mr.  Pybas"  with  smiles.  Again  he  slakes  his  thirst 
at  the  cistern-spigot,  swallowing  swarms  of  wiggletails, 
and  says  to  the  stout  dame,  his  mother  : 

"  Let's  have  a  Stake  and  Onions  for  dinner  to-day. 
At  four  o'clock.  Business  will  keep  me  till  then." 

And  back  he  hurries  to  the  office  for  more  papers. 

Dear  reader,  if  you  would  patronize  a  Man,  buy  your 
papers  of  Bony  Pybas  ! 


SUMMER. 

MOST  of  our  merchants  and  temporary  residents,  who 
are  in  the  habit  of  leaving  New  Orleans  every  summer, 
and  ungratefully  spending  elsewhere  the  rich  rewards 
of  their  industry  here,  have  already  gone.  Favorite 
resorts  are  now  thinly  attended ;  the  bar-rooms  of  the 
Yeranda,  the  City  Hotel,  and  the  St.  Louis  are  rarely 
crowded  at  lunch-time,  as  it  was  their  wont  to  be  a  few 
weeks  ago.  The  Post-office  is  not  the  hot,  densely-packed 
place  it  was  some  days  back,  and  you  no  longer  have  to 
await  your  turn  for  hours  at  the  delivery  boxes.  At 
Morgan's,  Norman's,  Steel's,  or  White's,  only  intel 
lectual  reporters,  and  an  occasional  lawyer,  doctor,  or 
lovely  Creole  young  lady  inquiring  for  the  last  maga 
zine  or  popular  novel,  can  be  seen  at  present.  Innumer 
able  houses  you  observe  to  have  their  doors  and  windows 
closed,  with  the  scrolls  "To  Let,"  and  "ALouer," 
scored  in  chalk  or  pasted  on  a  placard  on  not  a  few  of 
them.  Meantime,  the  sun  shines  down  hotly  upon  your 
head — the  water  in  the  gutter  waxes  green,  or  dries  up — 
gaunt  dogs  prowl  at  large  through  the  streets,  and  the 
Recorders  drone  over  rare  cases  of  drunkenness,  assault 
and  battery,  and  petit  larceny.  The  Theatres  are  shut 
up ;  occasionally  you  meet  an  actor,  left  behind,  and 
wrecked  in  the  heat,  at  whom  you  stare  as  at  a  fish  out 
of  water.  The  Churches  are  too  uncomfortable  in  the 
sultry  weather  to  be  much  visited ;  the  organ  thunders 
with  a  slim  choral  accompaniment,  and  scattered  voices, 
"  few  and  far  between,"  respond  to  the  minister.  For- 

(146) 


SUMMLR.  147 

tunately  for  us,  there  is  little  sickness,  and  if  you  en 
counter  a  physician  in  his  buggy,  you  know  at  once  that 
he  is  driving  out  for  "buncomb."  On  the  Levee  there 
are  not  many  barrels  of  sugar  or  bacon  ;  the  diminished 
corps  of  picturesquely  clad  sailors  lounge  in  the  cheap 
cafes,  while  the  vessels  and  steamers,  anchored  at  the 
wharves,  look  like  the  sun-stricken  ghosts  of  their  for 
mer  selves. 

During  the  oppressive  nights,  thousands  of  musquitoes 
swarm  about  your  ears,  which  the  fitful  sea-breeze  strives 
in  vain  to  disperse.  You  cannot  sleep  !  You  wander 
with  a  friend  to  the  Canal  Basins,  to  Esplanade  street, 
around  Lafayette  or  Jackson  square,  or  to  the  river's 
side.  Perhaps  you  pause  at  some  spirit-reeking  coffee 
house,  where  squads  of  politicians  are  sweating  and 
organizing,  but  you  have  no  patience  for  their  oratory 
in  such  a  season  as  has  now  revolved  upon  us.  The 
papers  alone,  in  the  cool  of  the  morning,  afford  any 
relief,  and  before  you  issue  from  your  bed,  you  order 
the  Delta,  in  the  hope — which  is  seldom  disappointed — 
of  reading  something  spirited,  graphic,  or  humorous. 
But,  its  columns  hastily  glanced  over,  you  relapse  into 
the  ennui  of  the  high  temperature.  Cock-tails,  cobblers, 
juleps,  cold  punches  and  lemonades  are  a  mere  moment 
ary  relief.  Gossip — the  great  city  narrowing  by  depo 
pulation,  into  the  limits  and  customs  of  a  village — is 
voted  inane  and  a  bore.  You  gasp  like  a  trout  on  the 
creek-bank.  You  perspire  till  the  dust  of  the  banquette 
is  laid  as  by  a  shower.  In  a  word,  the  New  Orleans 
summer  HAS  FULLY  COME  ! 


12* 


POETRY  AND  JUVENILITY  AT  THE  LAKE. 

LAST  Sunday,  at  the  Lake,  we  strolled  through  the 
public  garden  encompassing  the  Washington  Hotel. 
We  were  struck  therein  with  the  delicacy  and  taste  of 
the  proprietors,  who,  in  requesting  visitors  not  to  molest 
the  shrubbery,  sent  for  a  Muse  from  Olympus  to  convey 
the  warning.  For  example,  you  may  have  noticed  these 
warnings  : 

LADIES  ! 


Beauteous  as  the  budding  rose, 

our 
Botanical  Laws  you'll  please  not  oppose  ! 

Again  : 

-  Strangers  !  - 
You  are  welcome  as  the  morn  ; 
But  touch  not  the  flowers,  for  fear  of  SCORN  ! 

All  which  we  admired  exceedingly,  having  a  weakness 
for  poetry. 

Going  out  of  the  front  gate,  among  other  things,  we 
saw  a  clever-looking,  well-dressed  lad  of  about  fourteen 
years,  and  speaking  fluently  three  languages  —  English, 
French  and  Spanish  —  who  was  occupied  in  watching  a 
board,  having  a  square  filled  with  knives,  the  blades 
open,  and  sticking  perpendicularly  in  the  wood  ;  the  lad 
offering  the  spectator  so  many  iron  rings  of  an  inch  in 
radius,  which,  on  paying  a  dime,  he  had  a  right  to  toss 
up,  and  in  case  any  of  them  fell  over  and  engirdled  any 
of  the  knives,  the  spectator  was  to  have  the  same. 

After  a  while,  two  or  three  other  lads,  acquaintances 
of  the  little  trickster,  came  up,  and  saluting  him,  said  — 

(148) 


POETRY   AND   JUVENILITY    AT     THE    LAKE.        149 

"  How  much  a  day  do  they  give  you,  Gustave,  for 
watching  these  knives  ?" 

"Fifty  cents,"  said  Gustave. 

"  Law !  I  wouldn't  stay  here  all  Sunday  for  fifty 
cents,"  said  another  boy. 

"  Shucks  !"  said  the  interrogator.  "But  how  much 
have  you  made  for  your  boss  to-day,  eh  ?" 

"Five  dollars,"  replied  the  incipient  gambler. 

"Well,  all  I  can  say  is,  that  it's  a  poor  job  you  have 
of  it,"  observed  the  curious  chap. 

"Gustave,"  said  a  very  small  boy,  about  as  high  as 
our  waistband,  "  don't  you  want  to  know  where  you  can 
get  a  DOLLAR  a  Sunday?" 

"Yes,  I  do,  Willie!" 

"Well,  in  there — selling  sodawater  /"  added  Willie, 
his  eyes,  while  he  capped  the  juvenile  climax,  dilating  to 
the  large  roundness  of  a  quarter. 

"  And  nothing  else  ?"  asked  Gustave.  "  Because  I 
tried  to  sell  liquor  once,  and  the  smell  made  me  tight !" 

"Nothing  else,"  assured  Willie,  earnestly,  "  and  you 
can  drink  the  leavings  in  the  tumblers,  Gus." 

"  Then  why  ain't  you  there  now  ?"  Gustave  demanded, 
in  a  temporary  fit  of  skepticism. 

"  Because  I  wan't  quite  tall  enough,  or  I  would  be, 
my  Man !  But,  Gus,  the  cream  of  it  is,  you  needn't 
come  to  the  Lake  TILL  AFTER  SUNDAY-SCHOOL'S  OUT." 

This  is  a  literal  report  of  a  conversation  we  heard,  as 
stated.  The  last  idea  set  us  a-thinking ;  and,  indeed, 
the  perilous  position  of  those  yet  innocent  little  fellows 
was  sufficient  to  make  one  meditate,  without  the  demon 
stration  of  their  confused  notion  of  the  fitness  of  things. 


THE  COTTON  AND  SUGAR  THIEF. 

A  SMALL,  vicious-looking  girl,  named  Mary  Lockhart, 
apparently  about  eleven  years  of  age,  with  one  ragged 
garment  on,  bare-footed,  bare-headed,  with  long,  tangled, 
yellow  hair,  and  a  hardened,  incorrigible  expression  in 
delibly  stamped  upon  her  minute  and  ill-favored  features, 
— was  arraigned  before  the  Recorder,  on  a  charge  of 
stealing  cotton  and  sugar,  and  being  an  idle,  confirmed 
vagrant  and  vagabond. 

This  mere  child  in  years,  but  old  offender  against  the 
law,  when  questioned  by  the  Justice,  responded  very 
clearly  and  intelligibly. 

Q. — Where  are  your  parents,  Mary  ? 

A. — I  havn't  got  any,  sir. 

Q.— Are  they  dead  ? 

A. — I  don't  know,  sir.     I  never  saw  them. 

Q. — You  have  always  lived  in  New  Orleans  ? 

A.— Yes. 

Q. — Why  are  you  called  Mary  Lockhart? 

A. — That's  only  one  of  my  names.  Mrs.  Susan  called 
me  that.  Miss  Peridore  calls  me  Lisette.  Sometimes 
I'm  called  Jane,  and  sometimes  Josephine. 

Q. — Who  are  Mrs.  Susan  and  Miss  Peridore  ? 

A. — They  are  my  mistresses.  I'm  working  for  them 
now.  I  have  worked  for  Mr.  Ephraim,  on  Burgundy 
street,  but  he  whipped  me  once  because  I  didn't  bring 

(150) 


THE  COTTON  AND  SUGAR  THIEF.       151 

to  the  shop  as  much  as  Pauline  Troudeaux,  who's  one 
year  older  than  me.  So  I  quit  him. 

Q. — You  say  you  work  for  Mrs.  Susan  and  Miss  Peri- 
dore.  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  steal  cotton  and  sugar 
for  them  ?  Where  do  they  live  ?  And  what  do  they 
give  you  ? 

A. — Yes,  sir.  I  steal  the  cotton  and  sugar  for  them. 
They  live  on  Greatmen  and  Craps  streets.  They  give 
me  my  clothes  and  my  supper,  and  let  me  sleep  along 
with  the  rest. 

Q. — Who  are  the  rest  ? 

A. — The  boys  and  girls  that  works  for  them,  sir. 
We  all  sleep  in  one  room,  on  the  straw. 

Q — Black  and  white,  boys  and  girls,  together  ? 

A. — Oh,  yes,  sir. 

Q. — What  is  done  with  the  cotton  and  sugar,  after 
you  carry  them  to  your  mistresses  ? 

A. — Well,  sir,  I  believe  they  sells  'em  to  the  mattress- 
makers  and  the  candy-women. 

Q. — Did  you  not  know  it  was  wrong  to  steal,  Mary, 
and  that  the  law  would  punish  you  if  you  did  ? 

A. — (sobbing.') — No,  sir.     I  get  my  living  by  it. 

Q. — Are  your  mistresses  kind  to  you  ? 

A. — When  we  work  hard,  they  give  us  some  coffee. 

Q. — What  do  you  generally  get  for  supper  ? 

A. — Bread  and  cheese,  and  sweetened  water. 

Q. — How  many  girls  and  boys  do  Mrs.  Susan  and 
Miss  Peridore  employ  ? 

A. — A  heap.     Twenty,  I  reckon. 

Q. — Can  you  read? 

A. — No,  sir. 

Q. — Were  you  ever  in  a  church  ? 

A. — I've  been  on  the  steps,  sir. 


152  THE   COTTON  AND   SUGAR  THIEF. 

Q. — Do  you  know  there  is  a  God,  who  is  offended 
with  wicked  children  ? 

A. — A  what,  sir  ? 

Q._AGod? 

A. — I  doesn't  understand  you,  sir. 

Q. — You  have  heard  of  the  Workhouse  ? 

A. — Yes,  sir.  It's  a  nice  place,  my  Tommy  told  me. 
He's  been  there.  It's  pleasanter  than  Mrs.  Susan's  or 
Miss  Peridore's. 

Q. — And  would  you  thank  me  for  sending  you  there  ? 

A — I  would  indeed,  sir. 

Q. — What  will  you  do  to  thank  me  if  I  send  you  to 
this  nice  Workhouse  ? 

A. — (In  a  whisper,  and  confidentially.)  I'll  get  you 
a  heap  of  cotton  and  sugar,  sir, — and  Tommy  '11  help 
me. 

Q. — This  Tommy,  who  is  he  ? 

A. — My  Man,  sir.  He's  to  marry  me,  when  we're 
bigger. 

Recorder. — Well,  well !  Mary,  you  are  a  bad,  very 
bad  child.  You  deserve  to  be  both  punished  and  pitied. 
If  you  were  to  die  now,  I  can't  say  what  would  become 
of  you.  It  is  a  wicked  thing  to  steal  cotton  and  sugar, 
and  the  Workhouse  is  a  disgraceful  prison, — not  the 
pleasant,  nice  place,  Master  Thomas  says  it  is.  You 
will  have  to  work  hard  there,  and  you  will  wish  to  get 
out  of  it,  but  you  won't  be  able  to  do  so,  and  will  have 
to  stay  in  there.  Go  away  from  here,  you  little,  bad 
girl,  who  steal  cotton  and  sugar.  Nobody  cares  any 
thing  for  a  little  girl  who  is  a  thief.  Take  her  to  the 
unpleasant  Workhouse ! 

The  small,  vicious-looking,  ragged  child,  was  taken 
out  of  the  Court  room,  crying,  and  somewhat  scared  by 


THE  COTTON  AND  SUGAR  THIEF.       153 

the  Recorder's  reproaches,  adapted  to  her  capacity,  but, 
of  course,  little  appreciating  her  criminality. 

There  are  hundreds  of  such  children  in  New  Orleans, 
and  girls,  too, — who  have  no  separate  House  of  Correc 
tion,  in  which,  if  proper  attention  was  paid  to  them 
while  their  young  minds  are  yet  impressible,  some  of 
them,  perhaps,  might  be  reclaimed. 


AN  EGG-CITEMENT. 

PERCY  SHELLEY — not  a  relative,  though  a  namesake, 
of  the  great  po'et — was  drawn  up  in  criminal  array,  be 
fore  the  Recorder,  this  morning,  under  charge  of  having 
stolen  some  eggs  from  a  grocer,  at  the  corner  of  Royal 
and  Duane  streets. 

Recorder  :  Mr.  Shelley — 

Prisoner :  Yes,  sir. 

Recorder :  You  are  accused  of  having  stolen  eggs  last 
evening — 

Prisoner  :  Your  honor,  those  eggs  were  addled.  They 
were  offensive  spheroids,  unworthy  the  vending  of  an 
honest  tradesman.  Exposed  to  the  brooding  heat  of  the 
sun,  already  embryotic  chicken-life  had  begun  to  develop 
itself  in  several  of  them.  I  happened  to  pass  by  the 
grocery  at  this  juncture ;  and  the  impression  upon  my 
olfactories  recalled  a  Shaksperian  excerpt  to  memory, 
relative  to  decay  in  Denmark.  I,  sir,  have  travelled  in 
Spain  ;  I  have  made  one  in  a  pilgrimage  to  Compostella, 
celebrated  for  its  sacred  Cock  and  Hen,  perfumed  with 
sanctity.  In  a  locket  suspended  to  my  neck,  I  carry 
about  with  me  some  of  their  miraculous  feathers.  With 
a  mind  absorbed  by  these  literary  and  pious  reminis 
cences,  unconsciously  to  myself,  and  utterly  without  re 
ference  to  nog,  hard-boiled,  soft-boiled,  fricassee,  fried,  or 
omelette,  I  put  the  eggs  in  my  pocket.  I  designed  no 
theft.  It  was  a  fit  of  absence  of  mind.  Had  I  really 
desired  the  eggs,  I  should  have  "  shelled  out"  for  them. 
I  cracked  them,  it  is  true,  and  they  being  in  the  spoiled 

(154) 


AN   EGG-CITEMENT.  155 

state  I  have  alluded  to,  the  transaction  was  very  analo 
gous  to  cracking  a  joke.  I  demonstrated  them,  "by 
cracking,  to  be  not  what  they  were  cracked  up  to  be. 
Wherefore,  where  is  the  necessity  oT  this  egg-citement 
on  the  part  of  the  grocer  ?  Why  should  he  eggsact  my 
public  exposure  ? 

"  Well,  sir,"  said  the  Recorder,  "  it  is  fair  to  conclude 
that  he  who  steals  eggs  would  likely  enough  rob  a  hen 
roost,  which  is  a  grave  offence.  I  shall  send  you  to  the 
Parish  Prison  for  two  months,  Mr.  Shelley,  where  I  trust 
you  will  learn  to  view  morality  in  a  different  light. 
Take  him  out !" 


13 


THE  OLD  MEN  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

HAWTHORNE'S  « Twice-Told  Tales"  we  have  read 
twice — rather  good  allegories.  The  "  Snow  Image"  is 
a  frail,  cold  story.  We  have  seen  ladies  perusing  with 
crimson  cheeks  the  heart-red  pages  of  "  The  Scarlet 
Letter" — and  heard  them  vote  the  long  preface  to  that 
memoir  of  an  amorous  parson,  a  bore.  Here  we  make  an 
issue  with  them,  and  arrive  at  our  point.  The  parson  is 
a  bore,  and  the  preface  is  the  best  thing  Hawthorne  ever 
wrote. 

You  remember  it  ?  If  not,  you  can  procure  the  book 
at  Steel's.  The  preface  is  descriptive  of  Customhouse 
life,  at  Salem.  It  is  impossible  ever  to  forget  those  old 
sinecurists — tilted  back  in  their  rusty  chairs  against  the 
idle  walls — their  hats  pulled  over  their  eyes — yawning 
— and  lazily  flapping  the  flies  from  their  pimply  noses  ! 

There  is  a  class  of  just  such  old  men,  whom  we  observe 
every  day  in  our  perambulations  through  New  Orleans. 
Observe  with  reverence,  be  it  noted,  for  sacred  to  us 
alike  are  bald  heads  and  gray  hairs.  We  meet  them 
about  nine  of  the  clock  in  the  morning,  sitting  in  cer 
tain  cool,  not  noisy  alleys,  and  in  certain  quiet,  sandy- 
floored  cafes,  whither  riotous  youth  never  resort.  Those 
haunts  we  visit  on  account  of  a  sluggish,  old-fogy  vein 
in  us,  which  we  would  no  more  suffer  to  be  phlebotomized 
by  the  prickings  of  new  notions  and  new  men,  than  we 
would  suffer  our  grandsire's  jugular  to  be  opened.  This 
by  the  way.  The  old  men  we  speak  of,  are  mostly  native 
Orleanians,  of  French  and  American  extract.  You  dis- 

(156) 


THE   OLD   MEN    OF   NEW    ORLEANS.  157 

tinguish  their  origin  by  the  latter  being  fairer,  feebler, 
and  blunter — the  former  sallower,  brisker,  politer.  That 
is,  if  they  are  not  engaged  in  their  favorite  occupation 
— reading  the  morning  papers — when  there  is  no  differ 
ence.  They  never  tilt  their  chairs  back,  nor  cross  their 
legs.  But  spectacles  and  hat-brim  tangent,  they  sit  as 
uprightly  as  their  bowed  shoulders  permit,  the  papers 
held  close  before  them,  silent,  abstracted,  and  out  of  the 
way.  There  may  be  a  dozen  in  the  alley  or  the  cafe, 
yet  they  never  seem  to  incommode  any  one.  Here, 
too — even  as  they  are  withdrawn  from  the  affairs  of  the 
world — they  have  an  air  of  being  laid  on  the  shelf. 
Their  serenity  is  remarkable.  We  don't  think  they  read 
the  exciting  editorials,  or  the  interesting  reports  of  the  sub 
alterns  of  the  press.  The  scissors-man  is  their  servitor, 
and  the  Mayor  in  his  publications  of  contracts.  Adver 
tisements  are  not  slighted  by  them.  But,  whatever  they 
read,  slowly  and  painstakingly,  for  the  vision  is  dimmed 
by  years,  and  the  brain  shakes  as  the  hand — it  is  as  if 
they  were  dreaming.  We  question  if  the  contents  of 
the  papers  do  not  slip  through  their  worn-out  memories, 
as  through  a  sieve.  They  are  never  surprised  or  excited, 
apparently,  by  the  most  highly  colored  snipping  or  ad 
vertisement. 

Their  old  city  has  gone  on  improving  from  what  it  was 
in  their  day — thanks  to  steam,  and  railroads,  and  tele 
graphs — mysteries,  however,  which  it  is  too  late,  at  their 
time  of  life,  for  them  to  attempt  to  unravel ;  and  so, 
with  the  wisdom  of  age,  they  do  not  bother  themselves 
therewith.  Yet,  notwithstanding  the  general  progress, 
they  remain  as  they  were.  The  places  they  frequented 
in  their  prime  of  manhood,  if  not  swept  away  by  the 
progress,  they  frequent  still.  You  encounter  them  hob 
bling  slowly  homeward — the  papers  read — at  half-past 


158       THE  OLD  MEN  OF  NEW  ORLEANS. 

ten  or  eleven,  oftener  in  the  second  district  than  else 
where.  They  notice  nothing  on  their  walk,  except  where 
to  plant  their  trembling  canes.  An  old  Frenchman  may 
chance  to  catch  you  looking  at  him,  and,  if  he  does,  he 
will  be  sure  to  say  "Monsieur,"  politely,  before  you  sa 
lute  him.  The  old  American  passes  melancholy  on,  like 
one  going  to  the  grave,  which  indeed  he  is. 

You  may  see  the  wives  of  these  old  men,  as  the  doors 
of  their  homes  are  opened  to  receive  them.  Yellow, 
thin,  their  faces  masked  in  wrinkles,  their  hair  white  as 
frost,  tottering  and  palsy-shaken, — you  cannot  realize 
that  they  were  once  as  beautiful  as  the  graceful,  dark- 
eyed  Creole  girls — their  grand-daughters — whom  you 
lost  your  heart  in  looking  at,  on  Chartres  street.  Yet 
they  were !  And  young  Jackson,  and  his  younger  aids, 
when  stationed  in  New  Orleans  during  the  last  British 
war,  used  to  swear,  "by  the  eternal,"  that  there  were 
no  lovelier  ladies  in  the  woild ! 

These  old  people  have  survived  the  most  terrible  epi 
demics,  and  have  rarely  been  ill.  Their  pulses  gradually 
run  down,  and  .they  die  "  of  old  age."  They  wear  out, 
by  degrees,  serenely,  without  a  shock,  and  altogether 
painlessly.  We  remarked,  in  the  list  of  deaths  for  the 
city  last  week,  five  who  deceased  from  old  age.  One 
of  the  five  we  knew.  He  daily  visited  a  French  cafe 
not  far  from  the  courts,  and  dropping  his  spectacles  upon 
an  occasion  when  reading  the  Delta — having  himself 
previously  dropped  asleep — we  remember  vividly  that, 
as  we  handed  him  his  glasses,  we  discovered  he  had,  for 
once,  essayed  to  read  a  lively  sketch — so  we  considered 
it — of  our  own!  We  were  sorry  at  this  discovery — not 
on  our  own  account,  but  on  his;  for  we  felt  that,  when 
ever  one  fails  to  appreciate  us,  he  is  in  a  "bad  way." 


THE   OLD   MEN  OF  NEW  ORLEANS.  159 

The  old  man  died,  in  fulfilment  of  our  prediction.     Re- 
quiescat  in  pace  ! 

The  pen  of  Hawthorne  alone  could  paint  the  portraits 
of  these  old  men  distinctly  enough.  They  contrast  so 
palpably  with  the  bustle  and  rush  of  life,  ordinarily,  in 
New  Orleans,  that  those  who  are  carried  on  by  the  cur 
rent  may  have  failed  to  note  them.  We  call  them  to 
the  attention  of  the  thoughtful,  as  a  theme  both  sad  and 
pleasing — sad,  because  they  remind  us  of  the  wasting 
away  of  spirits,  strength,  and  mind ;  and  pleasing,  be 
cause  of  the  sweet  serenity  with  which  Providence  soothes 
their  losses,  and  the  gently-sloping,  placid  pathway  it 
opens  before  them  to  the  tomb.  May  the  reader  live  as 
long,  and  die  as  calmly,  as  these  Old  Men  of  New  Or 
leans  ! 


13* 


A  CUPPING  GLASS. 

A  MAN — at  least  a  human  being — of  the  name  of 
Glass  was  up  before  the  Recorder  last  evening,  on  the 
charge  of  "violating  the  peace,"  by  taking  a  wee  drop 
too  much. 

"You  are  Thomas  Glass,  are  you  not?"  asked  his 
honor.  "What  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?" 

"I  am  Thomas  Glass,"  replied  the  man — or  human 
being; — "  and  I  have  much  to  say.  The  time  was  when 
I  was  <  the  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form'. 
But  pecuniary  misfortunes  put  me  out  of  fashion,  and 
time  has  marred  my  form.  Years,  your  honor,  are  footed, 
as  birds,  and  drinking  the  lustre  of  the  eyes,  they  leave 
their  foot-prints — crow  tracks — in  the  corners  thereof. 
My  glass  says  to  me,  <  Glass,  you're  getting  old.'  And 
thereupon,  the  additional  reflection  occurs  to  me,  What 
is  life  ?  It  is  nothing — a  bubble — a  vapor.  Why  should 
we  husband  it  with  so  much  care?  The  hour  glass  tells 
me,  <  Glass,  your  sands  are  numbered.'  Sir,  such  thoughts 
as  these  are  the  saddest  stones  melancholy  can  fling  at 
a  man !  What  consolation  is  left  me  ?  To  what  can 
poor  Glass  resort  for  comfort  ?  Only — the  glass  !  My 
friends  admonish  me.  They  inquire,  <  Glass,  why  do  you 
get  drunk  ?'  not  mincing  words.  And  does  your  honor 
make  the  like  demand  ?  Why,  oh  why  do  thousands 
intoxicate  themselves  ?  I  will  tell  you  the  truth — be 
cause  I  like  to  get  drunk — because  thousands  like  it  I 
There  is  a  pleasure  in  getting  drunk,  which  none  but 

(160) 


A   CUPPING    GLASS.  161 

drunkards  know.  I  so  love  the  taste  of  some  stimulating 
preparations,  vended  at  a  dime  a  glass,  that  I  have  fre 
quently  vented  the  desire,  Oh  that  my  neck  was  a  mile 
long,  and  crooked  as  a  corkscrew !  Then  I  delight  in 
the  effects  of  these  nectarian  draughts.  They  infuse 
courage  into  cowards,  magnanimity  into  the  envious, 
generosity  into  misers;  they  give  content  to  the  dis 
turbed;  they  bestow  happiness  upon  the  wretched  !' 

"  But,  Mr.  Glass,  you  're  charged  here  with  disturbing 
the  peace,"  said  the  magistrate. 

«•  Whose  peace  ?  Not  mine  own — I  was  in  an  ecstacy. 
No,  I  indulged  a  musical  propensity,  merely.  I  sang  a 
song.  The  notes,  however  unharmonious,  welled  forth 
from  a  joyful  heart.  I  was  willing  to  bury  all  differences 
with  the  world,  I  was  anxious  to  embrace  it  and  the  <  rest 
of  mankind.'  I  imagined  myself  but  emulating  the 
sweet  songstress  of  Sweden,  in  conferring  charity  con 
certs  upon  the  passengers  in  the  street.  If  I  was  guilty 
of  an  error,  it  leaned  to  virtue's  side.  Consider  the 
benevolence  of  my  motive,  the  philanthropy,  the  hu 
manity " 

"  Well,  sir,"  replied  the  justice.  «  I  think  I  shall  be 
equally  benevolent,  philanthropic  and  humane,  if  I  con 
sign  you  to  the  Workhouse  for  thirty  days.  There  you 
may  reflect,  Glass,  at  your  leisure,  and  perhaps,  when 
the  term  expires,  you  may  be  a  wiser,  if  not  a  better 
man.  Take  him  out,"  added  the  Recorder,  to  an  officia 
ting  policeman ;  and  Thomas  Glass  was  withdrawn  from 
the  court-room. 


THE  CASE  SO  MUCH  TALKED  OF  YESTERDAY. 

THE  parties  in  the  case  so  much  talked  of  yesterday, 
were  Miss  Parkerina  Pugh  and  Timothy  Grass. 

Parkerina  wore  shortish  skirts,  to  make  her  look  a 
little  more  juvenile.  She  had  on  a  small  chip  of  a  straw 
bonnet,  with  an  immense  veil,  which  served  to  keep  her 
blushes  from  the  sun,  and  her  modesty  from  the  wind — 
for  Parkerina  was  very  modest,  and,  as  she  averred, 
cared  for  no  mortal  beneath  the  skies,  but  her  Ma.  She 
was  afraid  of  men — wished  there  were  none  in  the  world 
— and  would  shriek  and  run  away  if  one  came  near  her, 
she  was  so  modest. 

Quite  chap-fallen,  plunged  in  grief,  standing  near  her, 
and  endeavoring  in  vain  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  her  eyes 
in  order  to  implore  her  mercy,  the  shadow  of  her  tremu 
lous  chip  of  a  bonnet  playing  over  his  face,  Timothy 
Grass — quite  a  fac-simile  of  the  Reader — rapidly  wither 
ed  in  the  wrath,  and  the  rear,  of  Parkerina. 

They  were  in  the  Recorder's  Court. 

Parkerina,  apparently  oblivious  of  the  presence  of 
Timothy,  casting  a  hurried  glance  around  her,  and 
slightly  elevating  her  veil,  made  bold  to  address  the 
magistrate. 

«  Am  I  speaking  to  the  honorable  the  Recorder  of 
this  District  ?"  inquired  Miss  Pugh. 

"  Y-a-a-s,  in  course  you  is,"  said  a  policeman,  on  her 
right. 

«  Oh !  merciful  fathers !  Oh !  oh !"  exclaimed  Parkerina, 

(162) 


THE    CASE   SO   MUCH   TALKED    OF   YESTERDAY.      163 

as  if  frightened  out  of  her  soul,  and  jumping  to  her 
left. 

"Hello!  What's  the  row?"  said  another  policeman, 
on  her  left,  having  caught  her  in  his  brawny  arms. 

Parkerina  exclaimed  again,  worse  than  ever,  and 
jumped  towards  the  Recorder.  The  clerk,  however, 
interposed  in  that  direction,  and  she  swerved  diagonally 
forward.  But,  there,  we  were  sitting,  sketching  her 
portrait — and  the  spectators,  at  the  same  time,  beginning 
to  snigger,  there  was  nothing  left  for  her  to  do,  but  to 
stand  still,  which  she  did,  wildly  and  rigidly — the  green 
veil,  which  had  popped  like  a  whip-cracker  in  her  modest 
cavortings,  gradually  settling  against  her  prim  figure, 
like  a  flag  at  half-mast  in  lulling  weather. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Miss "  the  Justice  did  not 

complete  the  sentence. 

"  Miss  Parkerina  Pugh,"  interrupted  the  lady.  "  I 
am  quite  a  bashful,  timid  creature,  honorable  Recorder. 
Allow  me  a  few  sighs  to  recover  my  dejected  spirits. 
Heigh-ho.  Heigh-ho.  Could  not  the  honorable  Re 
corder  dismiss  all  these  frightful  men,  who  destroy  my 
nerves,  and  hear  me  alone  ?  Oh  !  merciful  fathers  ! 
Oh  !  oh  !  No — no — no  !  Don't !  It  would  be  so  im 
proper  that  I  should  speak  with  you  alone  !  Oh  !  oh  ! 
One  or  two  more  sighs,  if  you  please,  honorable " 

"  Take  all  of  them  at  once,  then  !  There.  Now. 
Tell  me  what  you  have  to  say  relative  to  Timothy  Grass," 
said  the  Recorder,  smiling  in  spite  of  himself  at  his 
eccentric  plaintiff. 

«  May  I  request  a  favor  of  the  honorable  Recorder  ?" 
asked  Miss  Parkerina. 

«  What  is  it  ?" 

"  That  your  honorable  Justice  would  be  so  kind  as  not 
to  name  that  name  again — on  account  of  my  nerves. 


164    THE   CASE   SO   MUCH   TALKED    OF   YESTERDAY. 

Heigh-ho  !  Call  the  name  (  that  individual/  if  your 
honorable  Justice  would  be  so  good." 

«  Well,  well ;  what  have  you  to  allege  relative  to  that 
individual  ?" 

"  Thank  you,"  replied  Miss  Pugh,  sighing,  and  lifting 
up  her  veil  partially  from  her  face,  so  as  to  expose  the 
sharp,  red  point  of  her  nose  and  a  piercing,  little,  grey 
eye,  more  like  a  peep  out  of  doors  through  a  gimlet-hole 
than  a  real  orb  of  vision.  "On  yesterday  afternoon, 
returning  home  to  my  Ma,  with  some  worsted  goods  which 
I  had  purchased  for  the  use  of  my  Ma,  the  individual 
encountered  me,  coming  down  the  street  in  the  oppo 
site  direction.  The  individual  was  looking  hardly  at  me. 
I  did  not  look  at  the  individual,  but  I  felt  that  the  indi 
vidual  was  looking  at  me.  I  moved  to  this  side,  as  it 
were,  of  the  payment.  So,  your  honorable  Justice. 
The  individual  moved  to  the  same  side.  Confused,  hu 
miliated,  and  with  a  heart  bleeding  at  the  idea  of  my 
Ma  seeing  my  predicament, — I  moved  to  that  side,  as  it 
were,  of  the  payment.  So,  your  honorable  Justice. 
The  individual  moved  to  that  side,  also.  I  moved  to  this 
side  once  more, — once  more  to  that  side ;  and  still  the 
individual  confronted  me.  I  burst  into  tears.  <My 
Ma!  my  Ma!'  I  cried,  and  the  dew-drops  of  sorrow 
rained  in  torrents  down  my  cheeks.  The  individual  did 
not  go  away.  He  told  me  he  was  fascinated" 

"  I  was  !  I  am  !"  Timothy  Grass  here  broke  in,  his 
husky  vehemence  drowning  the  rising  exclamations  of 
Parkerina,  as  the  racket  of  a  tin-pan  quiets  the  hubbub 
of  bees.  "  I  am  the  miserable  unfortunate  whom  she 
cruelly  designates  an  individual — and  you,  your  honor, 
wink  at  her  hardness  of  heart !  My  name  is  Grass,  and 
she  is  the  Flower  of  Grass.  The  Scripture  says,  grass 
and  the  flower  of  grass  must  perish  and  pass  away. 


THE   CASE   SO   MUCH   TALKED    OF   YESTERDAY.      165 

Why,  then,  should  we  indulge  in  angry  feelings  ?  Should 
we  not  be  warned  in  time — affectionate,  and  devoted  to 
each  other  ?  But,  no  !  She  tramples  upon  Grass.  She 
spurns  Grass  with  her  feet.  She  kicks  him.  She  dis 
cards  him.  Parkerina  !  Parkerina  Pugh  !  You  know  I 
am  the  persoh  who  lives  opposite  to  you,  and  throws  you 
boquets  and  oranges  from  his  window  into  yours.  You 
smelt  the  roses,  but  you  turn  up  your  nose  up  at  Grass. 
You  ate  the  oranges.  Were  they  poison  ?  You  asked 
who  it  was  that  lived  opposite  to  you,  and  you  told  the 
small  black  nurse  of  my  landlady,  Mrs.  Wigglesworth's 
baby,  that  you  thought  a  great  deal  of  Mr.  Grass.  And 
when  I  serenaded  you  with  the  flageolet,  one  night  last 
week,  you  know  you  stood  behind  the  curtain  of  your 
window,  in  your  nightcap,  and  listened  to  c  Come,  0  coma 
withjne  !'  which  was  the  air  I  played.  You  know  you 
sighed,  loud  enough  for  me  to  hear  you.  Afterwards, 
when  I  went  to  see  you,  three  times  successively,  to  de 
clare  my  love,  you  sent  me  word  you  weren't  at  home, 
and  once  I  overheard  you  yourself  tell  the  servant  to 
say  so.  Now,  your  honor,  what  resource  was  left  a  lover 
to  declare  the  state  of  his  feelings,  but  to  do  so  whenever 
he  should  encounter  the  idol  of  his  affection  ?  I  watched 
Miss  Parkerina  Pugh  for  days  and  nights,  in  vain.  At 
last,  I  saw  her  go  out  to  purchase  some  worsted  goods 
for  her  Ma.  I  followed  her.  I  met  her  returning  to  her 
Ma.  She  tried  to  dodge  me.  She  did  not  succeed.  I 
told  my  love,  which,  like  <  a  worm  in  the  bud,  had  fed 

on  my  damned  cheek'  " 

"  You  have  the  damnedest  cheek  of  brass  I  ever  saw," 
said  the  Recorder,  for  the  only  time  in  his  official  career, 
(except  when  inducted  into  office,)  swearing  an  oath. 
"  Miss  Parkerina  Pugh,  you  are  too  modest  by  half,  and 
Mr.  Timothy  Grass,  you  are  not  half  modest  enough. 


166     THE   CASE   SO    MUCH   TALKED   OF   YESTERDAY. 

Go  away  from  here,  and  do  your  billing  and  cooing 
elsewhere.  One  piece  of  advice  I  will  give  you  both, 
and  that  is,  to  get  married,  and  not  make  fools  of  your 
selves." 

"As  our  honourable  justice  counsels  me  to  this  step 
— heigh-ho !  heigh-ho  ! — I  will  take  it,  however  much 
I  may  regret  it,  not  to  mention  the  nerves  of  my  Ma. 
Mr.  Grass,"  said  Miss  Pugh 

"Parkerina!"  exclaimed  Timothy — and  a  kiss  re 
sounded  in  the  court  room,  which,  though  the  solitary 
instance  of  the  kind  in  those  precincts  of  law,  was  suffi 
cient  to  purify  them  of  the  foul  contagion  of  every 
murderer,  thief  and  vagrant  ever  arraigned  therein. 

"Get  out!  get  out!  Quit  that !"  said  a -policeman, 
making  a  wry  face  at  their  osculation,  and  ushering 
them  to  the  door.  . 

In  the  evening  edition  of  the  Delta,  yesterday  (pay 
ing  for  its  insertion),  a  notice  of  the  hymenial  conjunction 
of  Mr.  Timothy  Grass  and  Miss  Parkerina  Pugh  was 
published,  and  the  case  was,  in  consequence,-  more 
talked  of  even  than  in  the  morning,  just  after  cne  court- 
scene. 


HAIR  PICTURES. 

WE  saw  a  curious,  we  may  call  it  family-picture, 
wrought,  like  embroidery,  out  of  the  hair  only  of  a  large 
family,  parents  and  children,  on  Chartres  street,  yester 
day.  The  picture  was,  in  fact,  a  castle  in  the  liair. 
The  castle  was  built  mainly  from  the  dark-brown  braids 
of  the  mother,  while  the  marble  corner-stones  and  pro 
tecting  walls  were  taken  from  the  gray  locks  of  the 
father.  A  son's  black  curls  supplied  a  graceful  elm, 
rising  from  an  eminence  hard  by  the  castle,  and  the 
light  ringlets  of  a  daughter  formed  the  current  of  a 
spring  brook,  flowing  from  amid  the  roots  of  the  tree. 
The  soft,  white,  down-like  hair  of  an  infant  composed 
the  shape  of  a  dove,  sunning  its  milky  bosom  on  the  eve 
of  the  highest  tower. 

At  a  short  distance,  this  curious  and  ingenious  piece 
of  mechanical  art  looked  very  much  as  if  done  in  color, 
so  skilfully  combined  were  the  differ  en  t-hued  strands  of 
hair  constituting  the  picture. 

We  admire  the  nice  skill  of  the  artist,  but  we  do  not 
approve  of  the  bizarre  sentiment  or  taste  which  allows, 
for  instance,  flocks  of  hair  cut  from  dead,  beloved  brows, 
to  be  profaned  by  the  touch  of  another,  who  can  care 
nothing  for  the  souvenirs  themselves,  or  those  dear  ones 
whom  they  at  once  represent  and  recall,  and,  naturally 
enough,  is  only  occupied  in  thought  and  solicitude  with 
his  mere  work.  We  should  be  jealous  of  entrusting 
such  precious  mementoes  for  a  moment  in  his  hands. 
How  indifferently  he  regards  them — with  what  stoicism 
14  (167) 


168  HAIR   PICTURES. 

he  rejects  and  easts  away  portions  unsuited  to  his 
mechanical  purposes  !  and  how  apt  (we  cannot  get  over 
the  suspicion !) — how  apt  he  is,  may  be,  or  might  be, 
to  make  up  a  deficiency  by  mingling  the  hair  of  OTHERS 
with  that — so  treasured — which  you  deposited  with 
him  ! 

Of  all  the  people  we  read  of  in  history,  we  affect 
least  the  Egyptians — on  account  of  their  embalming. 
We  have  perused,  with  horror,  Baron  Larey's  description 
of  the  process.  No  wonder  the  depraved  embalmers — 
who  took  such  unholy  liberties  with  their  nearest  rela 
tives — were  worshippers  of  leaks  and  onions  !  We  like 
the  custom  of  the  Greeks  better,  who  burned  their  dead, 
and  hoarded  the  ashes  in  urns  of  marble,  silver  and 
gold.  It  is  true  that  the  flames  of  the  funereal  pyre 
would  almost  consume  the  eyes  of  grief,  that  looked  on 
them ;  but,  think  of  the  avoided  coffin,  growing  spongy 
and  decayed, — the  linen  moulding,  like  spider's  web, — 
the  great,  blind,  red  worm, — and  the  beautiful  form 
turning  first  green,  then  black,  and  then — mere  dust — 
dropping  from  the  white  and  spectral  skeleton  !  These 
horrors  were  all  shunned  and  escaped  from  by  the  refined 
Greeks.  Not  to  speak  of  the  sanitary  improvement  to 
cities,  and  the  ceasing  of  sudden  grave-yard  shocks  to 
the  strolling  passenger, — mourners  who  removed  from 
the  death-place,  might  carry  their  cemeteries  along  with 
them. 

We  never  sympathized  with  those  enthusiasts  of  the 
Middle  Ages,  who  manufactured  trinkets  from  the  relics 
of  Saints,  no  more  than  we  do  with  young  Brousais,  who 
— we  have  seen  in  Stewart's  "Notes  upon  the  Physicians 
and  Hospitals  of  Paris" — keeps  his  famous  father's  head 
preserved  in  a  jar  of  alcohol,  setting  in  his  study ;  no 
more  than  we  do  in  the  oration  which  Girardin — who 


HAIR   PICTURES.  169 

slew  him  in  a  duel — delivered  over  the  grave  of  Armand 
Carrel,  ten  years  deceased.  These  revolting  sentiments 
are  perversions  of  right  sentiments. 

A  lock  of  simple  hair,  untouched,  save  by  the  sorrow 
ful  hand  that  dipt  it, — an  urn,  if  the  people  would  not 
cry  out  against  it, — a  bit  of  black  crape,  to  those  whom 
it  comforts, — and  the  memory  of  a  faithful,  fond  heart ; 
these  are  sufficient  to  quiet  the  manes  of  the  departed. 


JOHNSON  vs.  THOMAS; 

OK,    THE    SERIOUS   TRIAL   OF   THE    PLAYFUL. 

A    TRAGI-COMEDY. 

THE  name  of  the  plaintiff  was  John  Johnson.  He 
was  an  Englishman  by  birth,  and  about  fifty  years  of 
age.  He  was  confidential  clerk  and  book-keeper  to  a 
highly  respectable  Firm  on  Old  Levee  street.  He  was  a 
communicant  in  the  Episcopal  Church,  and  the  Firm  tes 
tified  in  favour  of  his  dignity  of  deportment,  reserve  of 
manners,  and  nervous  aversion  to  any  personal  freedoms. 
The  Firm  had  always  considered  him  a  gentleman,  and 
had  never  ventured  to  take  liberties  with  him. 

It  was  admitted,  by  plaintiff's  counsel,  Mr.  Quillet, 
that  Johnson  was  given  to  occasional  heats ;  and  these 
were  shown,  to  use  the  language  of  North's  Examen,  in 
a  rubor  of  countenance  set  off  by  his  gray  hairs. 

Nothing  worse  than  this,  elicited  by  Reuben  Thomas's 
counsel,  Mr.  Quibble,  could  be  alleged  against  Johnson, 
in  initio. 

Thomas,  the  defendant,  was  a  native  of  Tennessee, 
and  said  to  be  a  Nut-Cracker,  which,  on  cross-examina 
tion  by  Mr.  Quillet,  was  ascertained  to  mean  a  Practical 
Joker, — which  Mr.  Quillet  declared  he  believed  to  be  a 
dangerous  character.  He  called  attention  to  the  con 
stant  smirk  on  Thomas's  face,  and  really  was  of  the  opi 
nion  that  he  should  be  fined  for  contempt  of  court. 

On  this  last  point,  however,  Mr.  Quibble  demanded 
the  privilege  of  an  American  citizen — to  differ :  a  pri- 

(170) 


JOHNSON   V8.  THOMAS*  171 

vilege  which  the  heroes  of  '76  had  waded  up  to  their 
knees,  seized  the  British  Lion  by  the  throat,  shaken  the 
dew-drops  from  his  mane,  and,  with  a  grievous  roar,  com 
pelled  the  King  of  Beasts  to  disgorge  at  the  feet  of  the 
wild-screaming  Eagle  !  (Cheers  from  the  loafing  spec 
tators.) 

The  Recorder  interposed,  ordered  a  policeman  to  quiet 
the  loafers,  and  requested  the  learned  counsel  to  proceed 
without  raising  any  nonsensical  side-issues. 

The  cheering  of  the  patriots  suppressed,  and  the  mu 
tual  glances  of  defiance  of  Messrs.  Quillet  and  Quibble 
subsiding — 

John  Johnson  was  sworn.  The  plaintiff  recapitulated 
the  biographical  data  recorded  above,  referred  to  the 
testimony  of  the  Firm,  and  amplified  the  charges  brought 
against  Reuben  Thomas  in  the  affidavit,  viz :  On  Wed 
nesday  last  past,  about  eleven  of  the  clock,  A.  M.,  depo 
nent  was  on  the  side-walk,  heading  up  a  barrel  of  sugar. 
Deponent's  duties  are  within  doors,  but  the  clerk  whose 
vocation  it  was  to  head  up  barrels  of  sugar,  being  gone 
on  an  errand  for  deponent,  the  latter  had  agreed  to  head 
up  the  barrel  of  sugar ;  had  never  done  such  a  job  be 
fore,  and,  in  the  present  case,  found  it  very  fatiguing, 
on  account  of  the  sun ;  was  thirsty,  hot,  and  oppressed, 
during  the  job,  and  frequently  interrupted  himself  in  it, 
to  step  into  the  house  after  a  drink.  Deponent  was 
dressed  in  tight  pepper-and-salt  pantaloons,  and  a  green 
baize  jacket ;  does  not  wear  a  round-about  on  the  streets, 
but  only  writes  in  the  green  baize  one  for  the  sake  of 
convenience.  Did  not  think  of  pulling  the  jacket  off 
merely  to  head  up  a  barrel  of  sugar.  A  good  many 
people  were  in  the  vicinity,  standing  around,  or  walking 
along.  Some  of  them  were  looking  at  deponent  at  the 
14* 


172  JOHNSON    VS.  THOMAS. 

time,  being,  he  thinks,  surprised  to  see  deponent  head 
ing  up  a  barrel  of  sugar. 

Question  by  Mr.  Quibble  :  Don't  you  think  a  plaguy 
sight  too  much  of  your  dignity,  for  a  Republican  coun 
try? 

Mr.  Quillet  objected  to  the  question,  and  referred  to 
Coke  upon  Littleton. 

Mr.  Quibble  insisted.  He  denounced  Coke  and  Little 
ton  as  old  fogies.  They  were,  besides,  foreign  authori 
ties,  and  the  subjects  of  a  monarch.  He,  however, 
craved  the  indulgence  of  the  Court  to  read  from  an 
authority  which  would  ever  command  respect  in  the 
United  States — the  land  of  the  free  and  the  home  of  the 
brave  !  (Some  sparks  of  enthusiasm  among  the  patriots, 
but  promptly  extinguished  by  a  frown  from  a  policeman. ) 
He  would  read,  sir,  merely  ninety  pages  of  Story's  Com 
mentaries  on  the  Constitution. 

Recorder  :  If  you  do,  sir,  I  shall  first  retire  !  (Hila 
rity  among  the  reporters.) 

Mr.  Quibble  would,  then,  put  his  question  to  depo 
nent  anew :  •  Don't  you  think  near  about  as  much  of 
yourself  as  it  is  possible  for  a  man — a  creature — to 
think  ? 

Quillet :  I  warn  you,  sir  ;  I  warn  you,  Mr.  Johnson  ! 
You're  not  obliged  to  criminate  yourself. 

Johnson,  (confused  and  vexed) :    I  shan't  say  nothing  ! 

Quibble,  (looking  around) :  He  need'nt.  Silence 
gives  consent. 

Here  was  a  point — small,  quite  so, — but  it  tickled 
those  relishers  of  legal  wit,  the  prick-eared  loungers  in 
police  courts,  and  the  flame  of  their  enjoyment  burst 
forth  again — but  the  policeman,  happening  to  turn  his 
head  towards  them  for  the  purpose  of  expectorating,  the 
flame  was  quenched  again. 


JOHNSON    VS.  THOMAS.  173 

Deponent  continued :  At  this  time,  happening  to 
drop  the  hammer  with  which  he  was  heading  up  the 
barrel  of  sugar,  and  stooping  to  pick  it  up — while  in 
that  posture — pepper-and-salt  pantaloons  on  the  stretch 
— green  baize  jacket  creeping  up  his  back — hot  blood  in 
his  face — and  many  persons  contemplating  the  scene, — 
the  blow  was  struck  ! — the  insult  inflicted  ! — (Sensation 
in  Court ;  reporters  interested  ;  Thomas  smerking.) 

Quibble :  Stop,  Mr.  Johnson.  Let  me  propound  a 
few  interrogatories.  You  were  in  the  act  of  stooping, 
to  pick  up  a  hammer.  You  say  you  were  then  struck  ; — 
now,  sir,  I  ask  you,  on  oath, — where  ? 

Johnson  (fiercely) :     BEHIND  ! 

The  peremptory  candor  of  the  plaintiff,  and  the  per 
cussive  tone  of  his  reply,  occasioned  an  explosion  of 
laughter  among  the  idlers  of  the  lobby,  which  threatened, 
not  sparks,  or  flames,  but  a  regular  conflagration  of  en 
thusiasm  ; — and  it  was  with  the  utmost  effort  that  the 
policeman  could  restore  order.  The  reporters  were 
dreadfully  "put  out;"  and,  on  raising  their  eyes,  after 
order  was  partially  restored,  they  beheld  the  prisoner, 
Thomas,  with  what  they  conceived  to  be  his  throat  cut 
from  ear  to  ear,  but  which  they  at  length  perceived, 
much  to  their  relief,  was  simply  a  broad  grin,  dilated  to 
those  dimensions. 

The  deepening  rubor  of  Johnson's  countenance  re 
vealed  his  annoyance  at  the  mirth  of  the  crowd,  and 
Mr.  Quillet,  stupefied,  gave  Mr.  Quibble  whatever  way 
he  desired. 

Quibble :  Well,  Mr.  Johnson,  you  said  before,  you 
were  struck  behind.  Now,  sir,' if  you  were  stooping  at 
the  time,  how  could  you  see  Mr.  Thomas  strike  you,  and 
how  dare  you  swear  he  did  strike  you,  on  your  own  per 
sonal  knowledge  ? 


174  JOHNSON   VS.  THOMAS. 

Deponent,  (still  annoyed) :  If  you  will  let  me  talk  in 
my  own  manner,  I  will  tell  you.  I  never  said  he  struck 
me  on  my  knowledge  ;  look  in  the  affidavit; — I  said  he 
struck  me  on  my  person,  from  behind,  while  I  was  stoop 
ing,  and  that  I  saw  him  do  so,  between  my  legs  ! 

Quibble :  Well,  sir  ? 

Deponent :  Well,  sir,  I  accuse  him  of  an  attempt  to 
assassinate  me. 

Quibble,  (starting) :  Assassinate  you !  Why  ?  Where 
fore  ?  Did  he  threaten  you  ?  Had  he  ever  threatened 
you  ?  What  did  he  strike  you  with  ?  What  did  he 
say  ? 

Deponent :  He  struck  me  with  his  hand.  I  jumped 
up  and  whirled  around,  facing  him,  in  a  twinkling.  I 
felt  stung.  That  blow  reached  my  heart.  My  dignity 
was  outraged.  By  a  person  I  had  only  been  formally 
introduced  to.  He  took  a  liberty  which  the  Firm  had 
never  taken.  The  Firm  never  struck  me  behind  when  I 
was  stooping,  with  my  pantaloons  tight  and  my  jacket 
creeping  up  my  back.  In  the  presence  of  many  people, 
too,  who  laughed — yes,  sir,  laughed  ! — at  the  indignity. 
I  was  enraged,  and  hurt,  sir  !  And  while  the  blow  still 
smarted,  I  inquired  of  Mr.  Reuben  Thomas,  of  Ten 
nessee,  what  he  meant  ?  Church-membership  restricted 
me  to  that.  I  frowned  upon  him.  What  do  you  mean, 
hey  ?  I  asked.  What  do  you  design,  ha  ?  What  is  your 
object,  hum? 

Quibble :  And  what  did  Thomas  answer  ? 

Deponent  (with  loathing) :  He  bit  his  smerking  lips, 
sir,  and  said,  "  Come,  come,  Johny -jump-up !  Don't 
get  mad,  or  I  won't  play  with  you  any  more!"  Johny- 
jump-up,  sir  !  That  unexpected  blow  behind,  sir,  bruis 
ing  my  heart — play  !  And  the  idea,  sir,  which  the 
Firm  never  entertained,  of  "playing"  with  Me ! 


JOHNSON  VS.  THOMAS.  175 

Recorder :  Ah,  Mr.  Johnson.  This  is  a  very  foolish 
complaint  of  yours.  I  shall  dismiss  it,  at  once.  I  am 
surprised  that  the  confidential  clerk  and  book-keeper  of 
the  respectable  Firm  you  serve,  should  not  have  the 
good  sense  to  distinguish  between  an  innocent  quirk  or 
joke,  and  an  attempt  at  assassination.  You  can  go,  sir, 
Not  another  word,  Mr.  Quillet;  you  may  file  a  bill  of 
exceptions,  if  you  choose,  but  I  am  already  familiar  with 
the  quotation  from  Coke  upon  Littleton.  Mr.  Thomas, 
you  are  free,  sir — on  condition  you  will  assassinate  no 
body  on  Old  Levee  street  for  the  next  twenty-four  hours. 
Oh — really,  Mr.  Quibble,  you  ought  to  be  tired  of  talk 
ing  by  this  time — I  see  the  book,  Story's  Commentaries 
on  the  Constitution — but  I  shall  propagate  a  story  my 
self,  if  I  listen  to  any  comments  of  yours.  Good-day, 
gentlemen  !  The  next  case  on  docket,  Mr.  Clerk. 

So  terminated  the  case  of  Johnson  vs.  Thomas  ;  or, 
The  Serious  Trial  of  the  Playful— a  Tragi-Comedy  ! 


KEPORTERS. 

LYING  on  our  back,  yesterday  noon,  in  the  placid 
consciousness  of  having  done  our  reportorial  duty  and 
earned  our  wages,  we  at  once  soothed  our  legs  and  mind 
by  perusing,  in  that  attitude,  Washington  Irving's  de 
lightful  "  Tales  of  a  Traveller."  The  breeze  and  a  lazy 
finger  happened  to  turn  to  a  page,  where  the  career  of 
a  London  Reporter  is  graphically  depicted,  and  our  at 
tention  became  at  once  fixed,  our  whole  soul  absorbed. 
We  are  such  egotistical  creatures,  you  know, — you^ 
too ; — the  observation  is  a  general  one. 

"  Hello !  what  does  an  Author  and  a  Book-maker 
think  of  the  guild,  we  wonder !"  was  our  mental  excla 
mation. 

Bless  you !  the  most  in  the  world.  Irving  deserves 
his  reputation  for  amiability  and  sense.  Evidently  he 
envies  Reporters.  He  considers  them  as  happy  fellows 
as  worms  in  a  nut.  They  don't  strive  after  literary 
fame — they  are  unknown  except  among  themselves  and 
the  publishers.  But  then  they  are  always  read  and 
never  criticized.  They  are  not  cut  up  by  Reviews. 
They  are  not  neglected  like  the  quarto  chaps,  nor  dis 
missed  with  a  pish !  like  the  duodecimos,  nor  damned 
like  the  dramatists.  They  don't  have  to  go  a-begging 
for  a  printer,  and  then  get  chouseled  out  of  the  profits. 
Harper  does  n't  steal  from  them.  In  a  word,  THEY  ARE 

PAID. 

A  penny  a  line  the  "creepers"  receive  in  London: 
"  creepers"  because  they  are  so  active,  and  such  fast 

(176) 


REPORTERS.  177 

young  men — a  complimentary  irony.  Your  fanciful 
creeper  there,  who  is  velvet-footed,  and  can  smuggle  a 
simile  in,  or  a  bit  of  morality,  or  a  little  indignation, 
and  contrive  so  that  the  critic,  censor,  publisher  and 
treasurer — Oh,  a  leaden  matter  o'fact  man  always,  you 
may  be  sure  ! — shan't  detect  the  contraband, — your 
fanciful  creeper  soon  grows  rich. 

At  least,  Irving  knew  a  lively  creeper,  who  used  to 
fuddle  himself  on  the  strength  of  his  metaphors,  every 
dinner,  till  he  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  Philistine,  who 
pruned  him  as  Delilah  did  Samson,  and  he  took  the 
pledge  of  total  abstinence — in  effect ;  for  the  rest  of  his 
paragraphs  went  for  bread  and  breeches.  Charles  Lamb 
was  creeper  to  the  Post  once,  and  lived  on  crotchets, 
entertaining  crowds  of  roysterers  occasionally,  too.  On 
an  average,  all,  together,  would  consume  about  ten  con 
ceits  at  a  feast,  Charles  being  extravagantly  condensed. 
He,  you  are  aware,  was  a  bigot  of  the  ale-cask,  and 
felicitated  himself  on  having  some  of  the  choicest  brands 
— worth  an  idea  a  flagon.  Lamb  mentions  a  co-laborer, 
an  old  school-fellow  of  his,  a  "  creeper"  indeed — a  slow 
reporter, — one  Bob  Allen,  also  in  the  Post.  Bob  main 
tained  himself  above  ground  for  months,  by  this — only 
changing  the  name  and  the  order  of  the  other  words, 
now  and  then :  "  Walking  yesterday  morning  casually 
down  Snow  Hill,  who  should  we  meet  but  Mr.  Deputy 
Humphreys!  we  rejoice  to  add,  that  the  worthy  Deputy 
appeared  to  enjoy  a  good  state  of  health  ;  we  do  not  re 
member  ever  to  have  seen  him  look  better" 

Some  people,  who  don't  earn  half  as  much  as  a  "  penny- 
a-liner,"  turn  up  their  noses  at  the  phrase.  We  wish 
the  penny-a-line  system  was  in  vogue  here.  Not  one  of 
our  confreres  but  would  make — let  us  see — $10  per 
diem  !  And  not  taking  into  account  the  less  value  of 


178  REPORTERS. 

money  here,  either.  By  the  by,  Irving,  at  Sunnyside, 
may  not  deem  himself  a  pretty  big  grub  in  a  tolerably 
large  walnut,  after  all — what  with  being  hauled  over  the 
coals  about  that  "  Life  of  Mahommet,"  and — NOT  making 
$10  per  diem  !  Sordid  creature  ! 

At  a  penny  a  line — e-hem ! — we  should  get,  if  a 
practiced  spinner,  in  one  day,  or  two,  or  three,  what  we 
now  get  in  the  week.  So,  the  words  need  not  be  pro 
nounced  contemptuously.  They  are  fully  as  harmonious 
as  a  "penny  a  yard,"  or  "penny  a  pound,"  or  "penny 
a  pill."  Your  best  lawyers  dorit  receive  a  penny  a  line 
for  some  of  their  speeches. 

We  magnify  our  vocation,  and  conclude  that  there  is 
no  class  better  than  the  Reporters. 


ROCHESTER  RUSH ; 

OR,  THE  MAN  WITH  AN  OBJECT. 

IN  a  word — saying  nothing  of  his  garments,  which 
were  as  seedy  as  figs — Rochester  Rush  was,  originally, 
such  a  looking  man  as  the  Reader's  Uncle ;  only  his 
nose,  from  hard  drinking,  had  been  converted  into  a 
garden  of  brandy  blossoms,  so  mature  as  to  be  in  the 
transition  state  of  fruit,  to  wit,  pimples. 

To  the  Recorder's  interrogatory,  if  the  prisoner  was 
not — as  his  name  indicated — rather  a  fast  individual,  the 
prisoner  answered,  frankly,  "Yes." 

The  Clerk  made  a  note  of  the  admission. 

Recorder — You  were  drunk  last  night,  Rush.     Eh  ? 

Rush — I  was,  your  honor.     But  I  had  an  object. 

Recorder — Rush,  this  is  not  the  first  time  you  have 
been  before  me  for  intemperance.  You  were  intoxicated 
about  the  middle  of  last  week.  Ha  ? 

Rush — True.  I  never  lie.  But  I  had  an  object,  then, 
sir. 

Recorder — You  are  charged  in  the  affidavit  before 
me,  with  going  about  from  grogshop  to  grogshop,  carous 
ing,  drinking,  and,  in  short,  making  night  hideous. 
Hum? 

Rush — I  dare  say.  I  don't  doubt  it.  But  I  had  an 
object. 

Recorder — You  were  taken  up  from  the  banquette  in 
a  state  of  beastly  inebriation — what  did  you  say  ? 

Rush — I  had  an  object. 

15  (179) 


180  ROCHESTER   RUSH. 

Recorder — What  do  you  mean  ? 

Rush — I  insist  upon  it, — had  an  object. 

Recorder — Object,  object,  object.  My  good — I  should 
say,  bad — fellow,  that  is  a  strange  phrase  of  yours.  It 
reminds  me  of  the  one-eyed  perch,  which  another  poor 
drunkard — pole  in  hand  and  flask  in  pocket — passed  his 
life  long  in  whipping  a  shallow  stream,  to  catch,  or  to 
get  but  the  slightest  nibble  of, — in  vain ;  he  was  com 
monly  foundj  at  the  close  of  each  bout,  mellow  on  the 
sandy  bank.  The  case  is  stated  at  length  in  "My 
Novel." 

Rush  (interested) — Yours,  your  honor?  I  have  an 
object.  Yours  ? 

Recorder  (rather  flattered  by  the  question) — Oh,  no. 
It  is  a  pleasing  work  of  Ned  Lytton's. 

Rush— Ah! 

Recorder — Well,  Mr.  Rush,  if  I  let  you  go  this  time, 
will  you  drink  too  much  again  ? 

Rush- — N-n-no,  unless  I  have  an  object.  But,  if  I 
have  an  object,  honestly,  I  guess  I  will. 

Recorder — I  think,  however,  I  had  better  send  you  to 
the  Workhouse  a  couple  of  weeks. 

Rush — What  ?  for  drunkenness  ?  When  I  had  an 
object  ? 

Recorder — Yes. 

Rush — I  submit.  I  have  an  object  in  submission. 
Yet,  I  shall  be  happier  if  your  honor  would  assure  me 
of  one  thing.  Does  your  honor,  by  inflicting  this  pain 
ful  sentence,  have  an  object  in  view  ?  Your  honor  nods 
in  the  affirmative.  I  am  consoled, — I  am  happier. 

And  Rochester  Rush,  the  man  with  an  object,  was 
taken  from  the  Court-room  to  the  Workhouse,  where, 
quite  an  object  himself,  the  curious  Reader,  or  the 
Reader's  Uncle,  may  repair  at  any  time,  and  behold  him 
picking  moss. 


BOLIVAR  BEE,  ALIAS  CHARLES  HENRY 
SPARKS. 

"  Poor  man  !  he  was  his  own  worst  foe." — Common  Saying. 

"  I  SUPPOSE — yes,  we  will  call  it,  for  want  of  a  better 
term,  vagrancy.  I  accuse  Charles  Henry  Sparks  of 
vagrancy.  It  is  curious.  The  police  have  been  very 
derelict  in  duty.  Charles  Henry  Sparks  has  been  this 
incorrigible  vagrant  these  three  years,  now,  and  never 
once  arrested  !  Is  the  affidavit  completed  ?  Thank  you. 
Ah  !  the  rascal !  the  rascal !  I'll  have  you  done  justice 
to  at  last,  Charles  Henry  Sparks — miserable  vagrant !" 

Such  were  the  remarks  of  an  individual,  with  faded 
garments,  a  wall-eye,  a  red  face,  and  a  carbunculous  nose, 
like  Bardolph's.  The  remarks  were  addressed  to  the 
Clerk,  as  that  official  drew  up  an  affidavit  of  vagrancy 
against  Charles  Henry  Sparks.  The  individual  attached 
his  signature  to  it — Bolivar  Bee — swore  to  it  before  the 
Recorder,  and,  at  his  urgent  request,  had  the  warrant 
issued  immediately,  and  was  served  with  a  policeman. 

Mr.  Bee  should  then  have  gone  away ;  at  least,  he 
should  have  gotten  out  of  the  way.  But  he  did 
neither. 

"  I  say,  what  is  your  name,  watchman  ?"  he  inquired 
of  the  policeman. 

"  Pipes.     Why  ?"  inquired  the  latter. 

"  Because  I  want  you  to  arrest  Charles  Henry  Sparks, 
Pipes.  You  must  do  it,  Pipes.  You  won't  hesitate,  will 
you,  Pipes  ?  Charles  Henry  Sparks  don't  look  like  one 

(181) 


182  BOLIVAR   BEE,   ALIAS 

you  can  trifle  with,  Pipes.  But  you  won't  be  afraid, 
will  you  ?  Not  if  I  help  you  ?  Two  to  one,  you  know. 
Eh,  Pipes?" 

"Psha  !  Go  along,  and  get  out  of  the  way,  here,  will 
you  ?"  said  Mr.  Pipes,  rather  contemptuously. 

"What!  Are  you  afraid,  Pipes ?  Shame!  shame! 
Will  you  force  the  witness  in  the  case  to  jump  on  the 
accused  first — you,  the  apprehending  officer  ?  Coward !" 
said  Mr.  Bee,  stingingly. 

"  See  here.  Dog  my  cats  !  What  do  you  mean  to 
insinewate  ?  By  Jings  !  Hey  ?"  said  Mr.  Pipes,  "  buck 
ing  up"  to  Mr.  Bee. 

Mr.  Bee  seemed  delighted. 

"  Why,  Pipes  !  Ha,  ha  !  You  are  spunky.  Good. 
Now,  do  your  duty.  Arrest  him  !"  said  Mr.  Bee. 

"  Who  ?"  said  Mr.  Pipes,  bewildered. 

"  Charles  Henry  Sparks,  to  be  sure.  Call  me,  if  you 
need  assistance.  Now  !"  cried  Mr.  Bee,  encouragingly. 

"Well,  where  is  he?"  inquired  Mr.  Pipes,  glancing 
excitedly  around  him,  like  a  terrier  hearing  a  rat  which 
he  cannot  see  exactly. 

«  Here  !  here  !"  said  Mr.  Bee,  slapping  his  own  breast 
violently. 

«Your 

•  «YES!" 

«  Why,  you  re  not  Charles  Henry  Sparks,  be  you  ?" 
said  the  watchman,  doubting,  but  yet  instinctively  dou 
bling  his  fists. 

"  Yes — but  that's  an  alias,  is  Charles  Henry  Sparks. 
Arrest  me !  I'll  prove  it.  I'll  show  you  up  one  of  the 
greatest  rascals.  Quick  !  or  I'll  have  you  turned  out 
of  office  for  neglect  of  duty,"  said  Mr.  Bolivar  Bee,  alias 
Charles  Henry  Sparks. 

Accordingly,  sure  enough,  Mr.  Pipes  arrested  him  ! 


CUAKLES   HENRY   SPARKS.  183 

"  What  is  all  this  noise  about  ?"  inquired  the  Recorder, 
of  everybody  in  general. 

"  I  will  tell  your  honor,"  the  prisoner  undertook  to 
reply.  "  I  appear  here,  in  my  true  name  of  Bee,  to 
accuse  myself,  in  my  false  name  of  Charles  Henry 
Sparks,  of  unmitigated  vagrancy.  <  Hear  me  for  my 
cause,  and  be  silent  that  you  may  hear.'  I  am  a  sus 
picious  character,  your  honor.  I  can't  give  a  good  ac 
count  of  myself;  don't  ask  me — I  can't,  positively  I 
can't.  I  frequent  grog  shops  and  disreputable  places, 
and  I  keep  low  company.  I  prowl  about  the  streets  at 
night.  I  sleep  in  the  open  air.  I  have  no  honest  occu 
pation  or  visible  means  of  subsistence.  I  go  under  as 
sumed  appellations.  I  have  long  deserved  to  be  taken 
up,  but  nobody  would  make  an  affidavit  against  me.  I 
am  a  reproach  to  the  city  of  New  Orleans,  to  the  State 
of  Louisiana,  and  my  regard  for  its  peace  and  dignity 
urges  me  now  to  come  here  and  make  an  affidavit  myself 
against  myself.  I  should  like  for  your  honor  to  cross- 
examine  me.  In  my  false  name  of  Charles  Henry  Sparks, 
I  impeach  my  testimony  delivered  in  my  true  name  of 
Bolivar  Bee,  and  I  claim  the  privilege  as  a  prisoner  to 
have  myself  severely  cross-examined  as  a  witness  !" 

"  Well,"  said  the  Recorder,  at  once  amused  and  teased 
— "  what  the  devil  are  you  driving  at?" 

"  In  the  character  of  Charles  Henry  Sparks,  your 
honor,"  said  the  Red-nosed  individual,  "  I  thank  you  for 
that  question ;  but,  as  Mr.  Bolivar  Bee,  I  am  offended 
with  the  brusque  profanity  of  it, — still,  I  reply,  the 
devil  does  not  drive  me  at  all.  I  have  no  malice  against 
myself.  I  harbor  no  secret  grudge  against  myself.  I 
do  not  know  myself.  A  Greek  philosopher  built  a  tem 
ple  once,  in  which  people  might  be  introduced  to  them 
selves.  But  Greece  is  living  Greece  no  more ;  the  tem- 
15* 


184 

pie  is  in  ruins,  and  the  philosopher  is  a  pinch  of  dust 
growing  brambles.  I  simply  wish  justice  to  be  admi 
nistered  to  myself.  <  Do  unto  others  as  you  would  have 
others  do  unto  you,'  is  an  excellent  rule  in  a  social  pha 
lanx  ;  but  in  this  unrighteous  world,  my  motto  is — <  Do 
unto  yourself  as  you  would  have  others  do  unto  you.' 
Others  wouldn't  allege  anything  against  me, — so  I  make 
my  own  allegations.  What  I  have  stated,  I  am  willing 
to  swear  to.  Stop !  I  wish  to  demand  of  myself,  on 
oath,  if  any  one — any  enemy  of  mine,  has  prompted  me 
to  appear  here  against  myself?  (Hesitates.)  Ah,  ha! 
(Brightening  up.)  No !  nobody  has  prompted  me — I 
appear  of  my  own  accord.  I  have  nothing  more  to  ask 
myself,  and  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  against  myself. 
Pass  the  sentence,  your  honor  !" 

"  Sir,"  said  the  Recorder,  "you  are  a  crack-brained 
vagrant,  at  the  worst,  and  I  shall  send  you  to  the  Work 
house  to  see  if  confinement  and  labor  for  thirty  days 
will  prove  any  benefit  to  you." 

"To  the  Work-house,  as  Charles  Henry  Sparks,  of 
course  ?"  interrogated  Mr.  Bee. 

"Yes." 

The  Wall-eye  sparkled  with  triumph. 

"And  equally  of  course,  NOT,  as  Mr.  Bolivar  Beef 
interrogated  Charles  Henry  Sparks. 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  incorrigible  ass,  or  impertinent  jack 
anapes,  whichever  you  are!"  exclaimed  the  Magistrate, 
his  patience  exhausted.  "  Take  him  out,  Mr.  Pipes ! 
take  him  out." 

"  Hold  on,  Pipes  !  at  your  peril, — or  Charles  Henry 
Sparks  and  I  will  both  double  on  you  !"  interposed  Red- 
nose.  "  Your  honor, — your  honor  !  As  the  patriotic 
Mr.  Bolivar  Bee,  the  conservor  of  the  peace  and  dignity 
of  the  State  of  Louisiana,  I  did  not  expect  to  be  incar- 


CHARLES    HENRY   SPARKS.  185 

• 

cerated  for  doing  a  duty  your  own  myrmidons  of  the 
police  should  have  done.  In  the  name  of  Bolivar  Bee, 
I  protest  against  your  verdict — I— I  file  a  bill  of  injunc 
tions!" 

"  Take  him  out !  take  him  out !"  cried  the  Justice. 

And  both  nom  veritable  and  nom  de  guerre  were 
escorted  out  of  the  court  room — in  a  blank  state  of  neu 
tralising  smiles  and  tears — by  the  estimable  Mr.  Pipes. 


MOONEY. 

A  SERIOUS  charge  was  alleged,  this  morning,  by  officer 
Steele,  against  a  shabbily  dressed  individual,  who  wasn't 
altogether  sober  when  brought  into  court. 

The  Recorder  said,  "You  are  charged  in  this  affidavit 
with  being  drunk  and  disturbing  the  peace  of  Hevia 
street,  last  night,  at  half-past  five  o'clock.  Your  name 
is  Mooney,  I  believe  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  that  individual,  "  it  is  Mooney.  The 
etymology  of  the  appellation  has  been  disputed.  Thus, 
some  have  said  that  an  ancestor  of  mine — whom  certainly 
I  never  heard  of  before — was  very  wealthy — had  lots 
of  tin,  and  so  came  to  be  denominated  by  the  vulgar, 
Money,  afterwards  corrupted  into  Mooney.  Other  phi 
lologists  have  derived  this  nominal  designation  from  that 
celestial  but  lesser  planet,  which  illuminates  the  night — 
I  mean  the  moon.  I  incline  to  the  latter  hypothesis, 
from  two  facts,  viz:  The  moon  is  said  to  be  composed 
of  cheese;  I,  Mooney,  am  passionately  fond  of  cheese. 
Now,  putting  these  two  facts  together,  argal  the  preju 
dice  I  am  inclined  to  entertain,  is  inevitable.  And  why 
should  we  Moderns  not  claim  a  heavenly  origin,  as  was 
the  custom  of  the  Ancients  ?  I  perceive,  also,  on  a  strict 
and  conscientious  self-examination,  many  affinities  be 
tween  myself  and  the  sun's  nocturnal  proxy.  The  moon 
changes ;  I  change  continually — my  residence,  drinks, 
and  linen.  The  moon  is  fickle ;  I  am  fickle — I  will  not 
stop  to  enumerate  the  fond  female  hearts  that  have  been 
broken  by  my  inconstancy.  The  moon" — 

(186) 


MOONET.  187 

"Is  often  high"  said  the  Recorder;  "and,  coming 
back  to  the  affidavit,  you  are  charged  with  having  been 
« high'  last  night.  What  have  you  to  say  in  your  de 
fence  ?" 

"  In  the  first  place,  your  honor  has  remarked  the  ad 
ditional  coincidence.  But,  observe  furthermore — the 
moon  is  never  high,  except  at  night,  and  the  time  of  my 
alleged  elevation  was  likewise  at  night.  I  acknowledge 
the  corn,  that  I  was  corned,  to  employ  a  vulgar  phrase. 
A  cloud  obscured  my  brain.  I  was  in  an  eclipse.  Then 
it  was,  your  honor,  that  officer  Steele  stole  upon  me,  and 
the  iron  entered  my  soul,  and  became  aerolitic.  I  was 
incarcerated  in  the  dark  and  lugubrious  chambers  of  the 
watchhouse.  I  was  snuffed,  as  Jupiter  snuffs  the  moon. 
I  ceased  to  shine." 

"  Well,  well,"  said  the  Recorder,  "  something  too  much 
of  this.  You  must  give  bonds  for  your  good  behavior, 
or  go  to  the  Parish  Prison  for  thirty  days.  You  can 
retire." 


SHIVERTON  TRIMBLE; 

OK, 

THE   MAN   WITH   A   TACK   IN   HIS   BACK. 

"  'Ere  he  is,  your  honor  !"  said  a  policeman,  yesterday, 
dragging  forward  a  weazen-faced,  attenuated  individual, 
bobbing,  trembling,  and  shaking  all  the  while.  "  'Ere 
he  is  !  He  was  tuck  up  for  entering  a  'ouse  on  Caron- 
delet  street,  last  night,  and  frightenin'  everybody,  if  he 
didn't  steal  nothink.  0,  he's  a  reg'lar  buglar,  he  is. 
'Old  still,  will  you?  'Ere  he  is,  sir." 

The  policeman  was  a  fresh  recruit,  and  the  present 
his  first  arrest,  of  which  he  was  very  proud.  At  every 
word  he  said,  the  prisoner  ducked  his  head  or  swerved 
his  body,  as  if  apprehensive  of  personal  injury. 

"What  is  your  name,  sir?"  inquired  the  Recorder. 
"  Don't  be  alarmed  so,"  he  added,  seeing  the  prisoner 
shaking  worse  than  ever  at  his  question.  "  Tell  me 
what  your  name  is." 

«  ghiv — Shiver  ton  Trim — Trimble,  Shiverton  Trim 
ble,  sir,"  replied  the  prisoner,  with  a  horrible  grimace 
of  his  weazen  features,  and  at  the  same  time  making 
half  a  dozen  quick,  spasmodic  bows  towards  the  Re 
corder. 

The  Recorder  frowned.  "Look  ye,  sir!  you  had 
better  behave  yourself  in  court,  if  you  do  not  desire  to 
be  doubly  punished." 

"  'Old  still !  He's  been  squirmin'  this  way  ever  senst 
he  was  tuck  up,  your  honor.  He's  a  rum  'un,  he  is," 
said  the  policeman. 

(188) 


SHIVERTON    TRIMBLE.  189 

Shiverton  Trimble,  not  heeding  the  caution  of  the 
justice  or  the  injunction  of  the  officer,  shook,  bobbed 
and  trembled  "with  increased  activity. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you  ?"  demanded  the  magis 
trate,  astonished  by  his  motions. 

"A  hevil  conshince,  your  honor,"  affirmed  the  acute 
officer. 

"  No,  no,  no,  policeman — no  !"  cried  Trimble,  spas 
modically. 

"  Vel,  vat  then  ?"  said  the  officer,  disdainfully. 

"Jerks,"  answered  Shiverton,  jerking  terribly. 

«  Jerks  ?  What  do  you  mean  ?"  interrogated  the 
Recorder. 

"  Staggers.  Some  call  it  the  Seeing  Staggers,  because 
the  sight  remains,"  the  prisoner  explained. 

"  Oh.  I  see  how  it  is,"  said  his  honor.  "  You  have 
been  drinking  too  much,  and  have  unnerved  yourself." 

"  No,  no,  no  !  It  wasn't  liquor  brought  it  on,"  in 
sisted  Trimble. 

"  What  brought  it  on  ?"  asked  the  justice. 

"  A  tack,"  replied  Shiverton. 

"A  tack!" 

"  Yes.  I  leaifed  against  it,  and  it  run  in  my  back. 
It  inflamed  the  marrow,  and  I' have  had  the  Staggers 
three  years  now.  I  can't  walk  straight,  nor  sit  still. 
Folks  think  I'm  drunk  on  the  street,  and  when  I  take  a 
chair,  I  jump  up  like  a  pin  was  in  it.  In  a  crowd  I'm 
digging  somebody  with  my  elbow  all  the  time,  and  I  get 
knocked  down  for  no  offence  at  all.  If  I  pass  a  lady 
on  the  banquette,  I'm  sure  to  catch  hold  of  her,  and 
her  husband  or  brother  larops  me  for  it.  At  the  table 
I'm  always  throwing  the  coifee  in  my  neighbor's  face, 
and  shying  the  knives  and  forks  up  to  the  ceiling.  But 
I  can't  help  it.  You  haven't  got  any  will,  or  you  don't 


190  SHIVEETON   TRIMBLE. 

mind  it  a  bit,  but  go  contrariwise,  when  you  have  the 
Jerks." 

"  But  this  charge  of  burglary  against  you,  Trimble  ? 
Entering  a  house  on  Carondelet  street,  and  frightening 
the  inmates,  at  least,  if  you  did  not  steal  anything — 
eh?"  said  the  Recorder. 

"  It's  seldom  I  go  out.  I  did  so  yesterday  evening. 
I  saw  the  house  open,  and  some  beautiful  ladies — one 
playing  the  piano — in  the  parlor.  I  willed  to  pass  on, 
but  my  disease  wouldn't  let  me.  I  went  into  the  parlor, 
and  there  I  began  dancing,  like,  to  the  piano.  The 
ladies  saw  me — screamed — cried  <Fire  !'  and  the  watch 
and  the  engine  came,  and  I  was  arrested,"  said  the 
prisoner. 

"I  believe,  Trimble,"  said  the  Recorder,  «  the  physi 
cians  call  your  malady  St.  Vitus's  dance.  I  can  well 
conceive  the  horror  of  the  young  lady  when  she  disco 
vered  herself  playing  the  music  for  such  a  dance.  I 
credit  your  story.  Go  home ;  do  not  venture  out  any 
more,  for  fear  of  more  mistakes ;  and  endeavor,  if  pos 
sible,  my  good  fellow,  to  get  that  tack  pulled  out  of 
your  marrow.  You  can  go.  The  next  case  !" 


THE  EXPERIMENTS  AS  ACTUALLY 
PERFORMED. 

THE  company  assembled  punctually,  as  desired,  on 
Friday  evening  last,  at  half  past  seven  o'clock,  in  New 
Orleans,  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  Jones,  corner  of  Natchez 
and  Camp  streets.  Present,  Mrs.  Jones,  the  hostess  and 
medium  ;  Professor  Homers,  Rev.  Mr.  Short  Text,  Dr. 
Tweedle,  L.  Pinkerton  Slough,  Esq.,  Mr.  Boyle,  steno 
grapher  of  the  Daily  Delta;  and  two  little  girls,  nieces 
of  Mrs.  Jones,  of  the  ages  respectively  of  eight  and 
nine  years,  and  dressed  in  bloomers.  In  half  an  hour 
afterwards,  Mr.  Fum  arrived,  with  the  invited  ladies — 
Mrs.  Deuce,  Mrs.  Screech,  Miss  Pettypan  and  Miss 
Caudle — who  were  not  expected  to  come  before  the  fore 
going  gentlemen  made  the  suitable  arrangements. 

These  were  simple  enough.  A  circle  was  formed 
around  an  isolated  table,  previously  examined,  so  that 
there  could,  by  no  possibility,  be  any  deception.  Vacant 
chairs  were  left  for  the  ladies  and  Mr.  Fum. 

Mr.  Boyle  was  requested  to  act  as  secretary,  and  write 
upon  his  knee. 

On  the  table,  the  following  works  were  picturesquely 
arranged :  The  Shekinah,  a  quarterly  review,  edited  by 
S.  B.  Britton,  Bridgeport,  Ct.  ;  Spiritual  Experience, 
and  the  Interesting  Impressions,  written  while  subjected 
to  the  influence  of  spirits,  by  Mrs.  Loring  L.  Platt,  of 
Newtown,  Ct. ;  An  Addendum  to  the  Pilgrimage  of 
16  (191) 


192  THE    EXPERIMENTS   AS 

Thomas  Paine,  written  by  T.  P.  himself,  through  the 
medium  of  the  Rev.  Chas.  Hammond,  of  Rochester,  N. 
Y. — establishing  the  fundamentals  of  Christianity,  and 
giving  clearer  views  of  spiritual  life ;  The  Celestial 
Telegraph,  or,  Secrets  of  the  World  to  come,  by  L. 
Alph ;  The  Psycho-Magnetic  Physician,  by  Dr.  J.  R. 
Mettler  and  lady ;  The  Revelations,  The  Physician,  The 
Teacher,  The  Seer,  The  Philosophy  of  Spiritual  Inter 
course,  The  Philosophy  of  Special  Providences,  and 
The  Approaching  Crisis,  by  Andrew  Jackson  Davis  ; 
and  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,  by  Mrs.  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe. 

"  Are  these  writers  sound  on  the  Southern  question, 
Mrs.  Jones  ?"  inquired  Rev.  Mr.  Short  Text,  well  known 
as  something  of  a  fire-eater. 

"Are  they  believers  in  the  regular  practice  ?"  asked 
Dr.  Tweedle. 

"  Do,  please,  wait,  gentlemen,  until  we  can  get  in  com 
munication,  and  reserve  your  questions  for  the  Spirits," 
said  Mrs.  Jones.  "Now,  silence.  Observe,  but — 
mum." 

A  profound  silence  of  about  ten  minutes  ensued.  Mrs. 
Jones  then  seemed  much  excited. 

"  Get  up,  Susan,  and  light  six  more  candles.  They 
are  present !" 

"Who,  my  dear  madam?"  interrogated  Mr.  Slough, 
tremulously. 

"The  Spirits!" 

There  was  something  awful  in  the  tone  in  which  she 
made  this  announcement.  There  was  a  rap  at  the  door 
— and  everybody  started. 

"Fore  gad  !  It's  only  me  and  the  ladies!"  said  Mr. 
Fum,  entering  with  his  charges  as  he  spoke,  and  panting 
loudly. 


ACTUALLY   PERFORMED.  193 

"'Sh!  Be  seated,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  "Your  snuff 
box,  Mr.  Fum,  if  you  please.  Put  it  on  the  table. 
There.  Be  silent  now,  and  watch  !" 

Rap.  Rap,  rap,  rap.  It  was  an  invisible  rap  on  the 
snuff-box.  Everyone  was  astonished.  But  an  unseen 
hand  screwed  off  the  lid  of  the  box,  and — the  box  going 
horizontally  through  the  air,  as  if  carried  by  a  hidden 
person — administered  a  pinch  of  snuff  to  each  of  the 
company.  The  amazement  was  only  equalled  by  the 
sneezing.  Directly  afterwards  the  table  crawled  across 
the  floor  several  times,  like  a  great  ugly  spider.  Then 
the  chairs,  with  the  individuals  seated  in  them,  slided  to 
and  fro  athwart  the  room.  And  the  carpet  rose  up  and 
down  as  if  whipped  by  an  inappreciable  spirit  of  a  wind. 
And  suddenly  Susan  and  the  other  little  niece  of  Mrs. 
Jones  leaped  up  to  the  ceiling,  on  which  they  caught 
with  their  feet,  and  walked  about,  heads  inverted,  like 
flies.  But  the  most  strange  adventure  of  all,  perhaps, 
was  that  the  books  on  the  table  rose  on  end,  and  began 
reading  each  other  aloud,  in  a  spiritual  sort  of  voice, 
and  appeared  to  be  much  interested  and  edified.  Mr. 
Boyle,  in  his  notes,  endeavored  to  give  some  account,  in 
short-hand,  of  the  bewilderment  of  the  company  ;  but 
the  sliding  of  his  chair  prevented  him. 

Mrs.  Jones  then  clapped  her  hands,  and  everything 
settled  back  to  his,  her  and  its  place,  including  the  dust 
of  the  carpet,  while  the  books  tumbled  on  their  backs  in 
a  surfeit  of  knowledge. 

"  If  any  of  you  wish  to  hold  converse  with  any  par 
ticular  Spirit,  you  can  do  so,"  said  Mrs.  Jones.  "  Mr. 
Boyle  will  put  down  the  numbers  of  the  letters — a  is 
one,  and  twenty-six  is  izzard." 

Dr.  Tweedle,  who  pretended  not  to  be  yet  wholly  con 
vinced,  invoked  the  spirit  of  a  clown  named  Merriman, 


194  THE   EXPERIMENTS   AS 

who  dislocated  his  neck  partially  in  attempting  to  turn 
two  summersets  before  touching  the  ground,  and  Dr.  T. 
being  sent  for,  completed  the  dislocation  by  endeavoring 
to  pull  his  neck  in  place,  like  a  leg  out  of  joint. 

Rap,  tap,  r-r-r-rap  ! 

What  is  that  ?  asked  the  Doctor.  Here  we  are  again 
— ha,  ha  !  responded  the  interpreter.  How  are  you  off 
in  the  other,  world,  Old  Motley  ?  So-so  ;  we  want  Dan 
Rice,  to  get  up  some  fun.  Is  there  any  truth  in  the 
report  about  future  rewards  and  punishments  ?  All  in 
my  eye.  What  do  you  think  of  Luther,  Calvin,  and  so 
forth,  where  you  are  ?  Old  Fogies.  Parker  is  a  great 
gun  with  you,  eh  ?  Ay,  ay,  and  Davis,  and  Fowler,  and 
Wells,  and  Greeley,  and  the  beautiful  Mrs.  Stowe. 
Suppose  Mrs.  Stowe  loved  'Uncle  Tom'  like  he  was  real 
kin, — pure  philanthropy,  ha  ?  To  be  sure . 

"  Did  you  laugh,  Mr.  Slough  ?"  said  the  Doctor,  turn 
ing  round. 

"  Not  I,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Slough. 

No  love  of  filthy  lucre  and  filthy  praise  ?     Oh,  no — . 

"  Did  you  laugh,  Mr.  Fum  ?"  said  the  Doctor,  turning 
round. 

"Not  I,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Fum. 

And  these  other  spiritual  writers  are  in  earnest  ? 
Yes,  indeed.  Carried  away  by  a  divine  afflatus, — not 
a  dyspeptic  one  ?  Oh,  lud  !  divine,  of  course.  What's 
the  reason  we  don't  have  any  of  these  good  people  in 
the  South  ?  The  curse  of  slavery.  And  why  do  they  all 
flourish  at  the  North, — Mormons,  homoeopathists,  aboli 
tionists,  steamers,  free-soilers,  Swedenborgians,  Gra- 
hamites,  higher-lawites,  hydropathists,  mesmerists,  phre 
nologists,  infidels  of  superabundant  faith,  persecuting 
heterodoxies  of  every  kind,  robbing  slave-stcalers,  and 
so  forth,  hum  ?  Because  they  alone  are  freemen  ;  they 


ACTUALLY   PERFORMED.  195 

live  crowded  together  in  factories  and  cities,  and  glorious 
liberty  is  theirs,  to  exercise  their  ingenuity  upon  each 
other;  they  are  belectured,  and  bepreached,  and  be- 
newspapered  from  morning  till  night ;  they  don't  live 
far  apart,  like  you ;  they  know  the  spirits  of  helots  in 
their  Lowells,  but  not  of  Spartan  masters ;  you  are 
doomed  in  the  South  to  the  misfortune  of  enduring  dark 
ness  as  respects  new  lights,  and  to  the  eternal  infamy 
of  orthodoxy  in  religion  and  politics . 

"  Did  you  laugh  hysterically,  Mrs.  Screech  ?"  said 
the  Doctor,  turning  round. 

"Not  I,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Screech. 

At  this  moment  the  candles  burned  blue,  like  spirits. 
The  table  whirled  over,  with  its  legs  up,  like  a  'possum, 
the  leaves  of  the  books  dropped  out  as  if  nipt  by  a  kind 
of  spiritual  frost,  every  soul  present  turned  a  summerset, 
and  the  visitors  all  at  once  discovered  themselves  seated 
flat  in  the  street,  having  nearly  killed  a  watchman  in 
their  descent,  who  was  lying  asleep  on  a  goods  box. 
The  wrathful  night  officer  sprung  his  rattle,  and  all 
sprung  on  their  feet,  and  scampered  homeward. 

Mr.  Boyle  arrived  at  the  Delta  office  out  of  breath 
and  out  of  spirits,  on  account  of  the  Spirits,  he  said. 
Like  the  student  in  the  Devil  on  Two  Sticks,  he  was 
furnished  with  a  flask  containing  some  spirits,  whereby 
he  was  soon  spiritually  refreshed,  and  wrote  out  the 
foregoing  spirited  sketch. 

16* 


LOVE  AND  MONEY-A  VERACIOUS  HISTORY. 

THE  reader  may  remember  the  little  microscope  man 
who  used  to  show  beneath  a  many-hued,  magnified  Man 
darin's  parasol,  in  Commercial  Alley,  last  Spring.  There 
was  a  brass  thing  which  any  unmeasured  puffer  might 
blow  into,  and  thereby  gauge  his  wind.  Then,  there 
were  five  miniature  microscopes,  with  bugs  in  them,  to 
tickle  the  eye  withal.  Meanwhile,  the  ear  was  soothed 
with  a  mixed  lecture  on  pneumonology  and  natural  his 
tory  in  general,  and  exhortation  in  particular  to  the 
crowd  to  come  up,  and,  for  a  dime  only,  secure  an  im 
mense  amount  of  knowledge  and  pleasure.  To  those  who 
•subscribed  ten  cents  for  the  peripatetic  professor's  course 
of  instruction,  he  was  wont  to  present  a  fifty-dollar  bill, 
very  like  one  of  the  Louisiana  Bank,  but  drawn,  in  truth, 
on  the  Bank  of  Matrimony,  having  a  blank  space  for  a 
lady's  name,  another  for  the  holder's,  and  being  signed 
by  Hymen  as  President,  and  Cupid  as  Secretary. 

An  acquaintance  and  friend  of  the  reader's,  a  young, 
sentimental  dry-goods  clerk,  became  a  matriculate  of 
the  college  of  the  parasol,  and,  having  graduated,  re 
ceived  the  usual  amatory  diploma.  Being  over  head  and 
ears  in  love  with  a  country  cousin,  but  afraid  to  let  her 
father  know  it,  what  does  he  do  but  fill  up  the  blank 
spaces  with  the  names  of  himself  and  sweetheart,  and 
secretly  forward  the  bill,  equivalent  to  a  declaration  of 
the  tender  passion,  to  Miss  Matilda,  in  the  country. 
She,  of  course,  valued  the  ingenious  draft  highly ;  and, 

(196) 


LOVE    AND    MONEY.  197 

being  on  the  eve  of  attending  some  watering  place  in  the 
vicinity,  she  deposited  the  affectionate  counterfeit  fifty 
in  her  purse,  along  with  other  more  genuine  and  more 
sordid  notes. 

Xow,  at  the  watering  place,  there  were  not  a  few  young 
gentlemen  to  whom  Miss  Matilda  was  by  no  means  an 
indifferent  object,  and  who,  could  they  be  satisfied  that 
Michael  had  not  secured  her  heart,  as  they  suspected, 
would,  without  doubt,  "  propose."  When  was  there  ever 
a  lady,  betrothed,  or  vowed  vestal,  who  could  resist  a 
chance  of  a  speech  from  any  decently  dressed  and  well 
behaved  male  creature  ?  Miss  Matilda  insinuated  her 
freedom  from  all  obligations  of  the  kind  suspected,  upon 
every  occasion — though,  on  retiring,  at  night,  she  inva 
riably  reperused  poor  Michael's  bank-note,  and,  being  a 
careful,  loving  sort  of  girl,  slept  with  it  under  her  pillow. 

At  length,  a  sudden  summons  calling  her  home,  she 
hastily  gave  her  purse  to  one  of  her  adorers,  requesting 
him  to  settle  her  account  with  the  host  of  the  watering 
place.  He,  good,  easy,  honest  man,  accepted  the  first 
bill  which  the  lady's  treasurer  took  from  her  purse,  which 
happened  to  be  a  fifty  dollar  one,  and  gave  the  treasurer 
a  receipt  in  full,  and  thirty  dollars,  State  currency,  in 
change. 

The  young  lady  reached  home  safely,  and  there  her 
father,  after  saluting  either  cheek,  inquired,  as  country 
fathers  will,  into  the  condition  of  his  daughter's  exche 
quer.  She,  at  once,  handed  him  her  little  silken  purse, 
voluminous  with  the  receipt  and  surplus  dimes.  The 
wary  father  adjusted  his  spectacles,  with  some  difficulty 
found  and  inserted  a  ploughman's  finger  into  the  opening, 
extracted  the  contents,  and  smoothing  the  paper  on  his 
knee,  began  to  count. 


198  LOVE   AND   MONEY. 

"  Twenty  dollars  at  the  springs,  eh,  Matty  ?"  said  he, 
looking  up. 

"  Yes,  papa,"  replied  Miss  Matilda,  negligently. 

"  Oh.  Yes,  yes.  Here's  the  receipt.  Krozier's  a 
squeeze,  Matty.  Never  mind.  I  hope  you  enjoyed 
yourself;  lots  of  beaux,  eh,  Matty?"  asked  the  farmer, 
surveying  his  handsome  daughter  proudly. 

"  Why,  papa !  How  you  talk !  I  did  have  some 
pleasure,  and  I  hope  I  received  some  attention,"  replied 
the  young  lady,  very  like  a  coquette. 

"  Well,  I'm  sure  I  hope  so  too,  Matty,"  said  her  father, 
laughing  at  her  pretty  airs.  *  "  Mat,  I  gave  you  thirty 
dollars,  didn't  I,  when  you  left  ?" 

"  Yes,  papa." 

"  Hellow  !  How's  this  ?  Here's  thirty,  and  thirty's 
sixty,  and  the  receipt  for  twenty,  too !  Mat,  you've 
been  playing  cards,  I.  know !"  said  the  old  man. 

"No,  papa;  you  haven't  counted  right — OH!"  and 
her  face  turned  scarlet — "there's  a  fifty  dollar  bill 
there" — 

"  No  there  isn't — nothing  higher  than  a  ten,"  said 
the  farmer,  staring  at  Miss  Matilda's  blushing. 

"  Then  it's  spent — it's  spent — yes,  there's  the  change  ! 
What  will  Mr.  Krozier  think — how  they'll  all  laugh — 
0,  my  dear  papa !"  and  Miss  Matilda  fainted  in  the 
father's  arms. 

Here  there  was  matter  of  alarm.  Becky,  Tib,  Dinah, 
and  all  the  negro  maids  "  at  the  house,"  were  summoned 
to  their  young  mistress,  and  Harry  sent  off  on  the  race- 
colt  for  Dr.  Jones.  But,  before  the  physician  arrived, 
Miss  Matilda  "  came  to,"  and  explained,  as  a  dutiful 
daughter  ought,  the  whole  affair.  The  farmer  stormed 
a  little,  more  at  the  awkwardness  of  the  changing  busi 
ness  than  Michael's  part  in  the  transaction,  wrote  to 


LOVE   AND   MONEY.  199 

Krozier  for  the  bill,  sending  him  another  in  its  place, 
and  threatening  to  break  his  head  if  he  said  a  word 
about  the  change.  In  the  next  place,  this  model  of  an 
"old  gent"  wrote  down  here  to  Michael,  telling  him  to 
come  up  to  Sugar-tree  Forest,  and  that  Matilda  would 
pay  him  for  that  fifty  dollar  bill  she  had  borrowed  of 
him.  Michael  was  off  in  no  time,  you  may  be  sure. 

"We  received  a  letter  from  him  yesterday,  communi 
cating  the  foregoing  circumstances,  and  inclosing  some 
lines  by  a  village  poet,  on  his  marriage  with  his  fair 
country  cousin,  Miss  Matilda.  He  added  in  a  postscript, 
that  he  had  seen  our  notice  of  Professor  Smith's  micro 
scope,  and  that  we  must  get  him  one,  for  love  or  money. 
He  wanted,  also,  a  Chinese  parasol,  if  one  could  be  possi 
bly  obtained,  for  the  use  of  his  wife,  who  had  conceived 
a  longing  for  the  same.  And  he  enjoined  it  upon  us  to 
telegraph  him  when  the  peripatetic  professor  re-appeared 
with  his  apparatus  in  Commercial  Alley,  as  he  desired 
to  invite  him  to  visit  his  neighborhood. 

Our  reader's  acquaintance  and  friend,  the  quondam 
dry-goods  clerk,  Michael,  is  now  engaged  in  agricultural 
pursuits. 


MAL  D'ESTOMAC-THE  DYSPEPTIC. 

WHY  stand  there  staring  at  the  cakes  and  candies  of 
that  confectionary  shop  ?  Let's  go  in  and  purchase 
some  bon-bon  or  other — they  look  very  tempting. 

"  To  you — yes,"  said  Mai  d'Estomac,  with  a  wince — 
"but  not  to  me.  Think  how  those  knick-knacks  are 
made,  and  then  fall  to  with  what  appetite  you  can. 
Think  of  the  hot  flames  arising  from  dirty,  soppy  planks 
— of  the  perspiring  confectioner  half  cleaning  his  brazen 
kettles.  Think  of  the  damaged  sugar  and  muddy  river- 
water — the  worm-eaten  condiments  mingled  with  dust — 
the  sour  flour — the  sticky  dough  worked  with  sweaty 
hands — then  the  poisonous  paints  with  which  the  sweet 
meats  are  colored  !  Bah  !  Let's  fly  from  here,  lest  the 
vomito  come  upon  us  !" 

Are  you  always  in  this  humor  ? — Heavens  !  what 
splendid  jewelry  glitters  in  that  window !  Let's  stop 
and  admire. 

"  Gold  and  silver,  and  rare  stones,  and  glass,"  said 
Mai  d'Estomac.  "What  are  they?  Mere  metals  of 
the  earth,  crystalizations,  melted  sand.  What  merce 
nary  feelings  they  have  ever  engendered  !  What  sacri 
fices  have  been  exchanged  for  their  possession !  Home, 
family,  kindred,  friends,  honor,  life, — these  have  been 
squandered  over  the  rude  ore  or  in  the  quarry,  from 
whence  the  shining  dross  was  digged  like  a  root.  And 
of  what  use  are  they !  On  the  person  of  a  man  or 
woman,  they  remind  one  of  the  decorations  of  the  South- 
sea  Islander.  Converted  into  coin,  they  represent  ideal 

(200) 


MAL  D'ESTOMAC.  201 

wealth,  and  become  the  source  of  all  the  invidious  dis 
tinctions  in  society  and  of  every  species  of  debauchery, 
dissipation  and  disreputable  speculation.  The  Spartans 
were  a  wise  people, — it  required  a  yoke  of  oxen  to  draw 
even  one  of  their  iron  pennies.  Slit  your  wife's  ears, 
if  you  please,  garrote  her  with  necklaces,  but  keep  the 
manacles  off  of  me,  and  leave  my  features  unpunched  !" 

Really ! — But  here  are  some  capital  suits  of  ready- 
manufactured  clothing— out  of  the  finest  cloths,  too. 
Stay,  and  let's  examine  them. 

"  Clothes  !"  said  Mai  d'Estomac,  almost  rending  his 
own.  "  They  are  parallel  with  Sin,  and  old  as  Death. 
When  Adam  committed  his  first  offence,  he  listened 
perhaps  a  second  time  to  the  shame-faced  woman,  and 
took  to  botching  breeches.  Miserable  leaves  of  the  fig- 
tree  were  the  original  texture,  and  the  man  and  the 
woman  appeared  in  Bloomers.  Birnam  Forest  marching 
down  the  vista  of  future  generations!  0,  thou  only 
true  philosopher,  Sartor  Resartus,  who  unfrockest  this 
World  of  Shams ! — would,  for  the  sake  of  the  same, 
thou  hadst  spoken  a  less  unintelligible  jargon  !  Those 
rags,  which  you  stare  at  so  covetously,  are  hoods, 
dominoes,  masks,  disguises,  theatrical  uniforms,  in  which 
that  brood  of  Thespians — mankind — fret  their  little 
hours  upon  this  low  stage  of  earth." 

You  should  go  to  Georgia,  where  a  Major's  parade- 
dress  consists  but  of  a  shirt-collar  and  a  pair  of  spurs. 
— Ha  !  fore  gad  !  a  lovely  female  face  that,  and  a  noble- 
looking  fellow  accompanying  her.  See  them. 

"  See  them  !"  said  Mai  d'Estomac,  gloomily.  "  I  see 
two  skeletons  walking  before  me !  Nay,  start  not  off 
on  your  own  curved  tibias  and  fibulas  ;  why  should  your 
bones  rattle  with  horror  !  I  see  through  you,  as  through 
those  phantoms  hurrying  laughingly  before  us.  I  see 


202 


HAL   D  ESTOMAC. 


the  worm-like  layers  of  your  brain  squirm  when  you 
think — I  see  your  stomach  contracting  on  a  potato, 
looking  like  a  bag  with  a  cat  in  it — I  see  your  heart 
throbbing  like  a  pea  in  an  oven,  and  thrusting  a  disa 
greeably-smelling  liquid,  called  blood,  through  thin,  dark 
tubes  or  veins — I  see  the  whole  mechanism — heaving, 
toiling,  moiling — tied  to  hideous  ribs  and  vertebras,  or 
boxed  in  a  skull,  which  is  absolutely  the  most  frightfully 
ugly  thing  in  nature, — and  you  tell  me  to  wonder  at 
your  beauty,  to  write  verses  on  it,  TO  LOVE  YOU, — and 
when  a  bit  of  lead,  a  penknife,  a  bare  bodkin,  one  potato 
too  much,  a  cherry-stone,  would  put  an  end  to  you  and 
your  intolerable  vanity  and  presumption  !" 

Why,  this  is  outrageous  !  You  were  never  so  bad 
before.  How  is  your  digestion  ! 

"  Worse,  worse,  and  daily  growing  worse,"  said  Mai 
d'Estomac,  tears  coming  into  his  eyes. 

What  have  you  been  taking  to-day? 

"  Aloes,  scammony  and  gamboge,"  said  Mai  d'Es 
tomac,  retching  at  every  word.  "But  here  is  the 
doctor's.  Adieu,  good-by.  Let  me  see  you  start  off. 
Ha  !  ha  !  My  God  !  what  tibias  !  what  fibulas  !" 

And  Mai  d'Estomac  at  once  placed  himself  in  the 
hands  of  the  Doctor.  It  was  time. 


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/HE  DRAMA  AT  POKERVILLE, 

Ilie  Bench  and  Bar  of  Jurytown, 

AND  OTHER 

STORIES  AND   INCIDENTS. 
BY  "EVERPOINT," 

(J.  M.  FIELD,  ESQ.,  OF  THE  ST.  LOUIS  REVEILLE.) 

CONTENTS. 

The  Drama  in  Pokerville— The  Great  Small 
Affair  Announcement — Feeling  in  Pokerville 
—The  Great  Small  Affair  Opening— The 
Gloat  Pokerville  Preliminaries — The  Great 
Bicall  Affair  Mystery— The  Great  Pokerville 
K.-nnion— The  Great  Small  Affair  Dinner— 
The  Great  Pokerville.  "Saw"— The  Great  Small 
Affair  Scandal— The  Great  Small  Affair  Chas- 
tis.'n:"nt— The  Great  Small  Affair  Duel— 
What  wa.x  built  on  the  Great  Small  Affair 
Foundation — Tne  Bench  and  Bar  of  Jury- 
town — A  Sucker  in  a  Warm  Bath — An  "Aw 
ful  Place" — The  Elk  Runners — "Old  Sol"  in 
a  Di-licatr  Situation — The  '-Gagging  Scheme," 
or,  West's  Great  Picture — Establishing  vhe 
Science — Ole  Bull  in  the  "  Solitude" — How 
our  Friend  B 'a  Hair  went— A  Fancy  Bar 
keeper— "  Mr.  NohWe !"—"  Honey  Run"— A 
IJmig  Jury — Paternal  Gushings — A  Worry 
Grave  Exhortation — "Your  Turn  next.  Sir" — 
Plopping  to  "Wood"— Death  of  Mike  Fink— 
Establishing  a  Connection — A  Night  in  a 
Swamp — Steamboat  Miseries — A  Resurrec 
tionist  and  his  Freight. 

"•  When  we  say  that  it  is  entirely  worthy  of 
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Times. 


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A  QUARTER  RACE  IN  KENTUCKY, 

AXD 

OTHER  STORIES. 
BY    W.    T.    PORTER,    ESQ. 

EDITOR  OF  THE  "  BIG  BEAR  OF  ARKANSAS,"  ETC. 

CONTENTS. 

A  Quarter  Race  in  Kentucky — A  Shark 
Story — Lanty  Oliphant  in  Court— Bill  Morse 
on  the  City  Taxes— Ance  Veasy's  Fight  with 
Reub  Sessions — The  Fastest  Funeral  on  Re 
cord — Going  to  Bed  before  a  Young  Lady — 
A  Milierite  Miracle— Old  Singletire— ••  i fun 
ning  a  Saw"  on  a  French  Gentleman— Break 
ing  a  Bank— Taking  the  Census— Dick  Har- 
lan's  Tennessee  Frolic—"  Falling  off  a  Log" 
in  a  Game  of  «  Seven  up"— The  "  Werry  Fast 
Crab"— "  French  without  a  Master"— A  Rol- 
licJUng  Dragoon  Officer— The  Georgia  Major 
In  Court— Uncle  Billy  Brown  "Glorious"— 
Old  Tuttle's  Last  Quarter  Race— Bill  Dean, 
the  Texan  Ranger— The  Steamboat  Captain 
who  was  averse  to  Racing— Bob  llerriiv  the 
Arkansas  Bear-hunter— McAlpin's  Trfp  to 
Charleston— Indian  Rubber  Pills— A  Murder 
Case  ui  Mississippi— Kiching  a  Yankee— A 
4 


"Down-east"  Original— Somebody  in  my  Bed 
— A  Day  at  Sol.  Slice's — Cupping  on  the  Star- 
num— A  Bear  Story— Playing  Poker  in  Ar 
kansas — &c.  &c. 

•'It  is  illustrated  with  origins!  engravings 
from  designs  by  Darley.  The  '  Quarter  Race 
in  Kentucky'  i«  one  of  the  best  stories  that 
was  ever  penned,  and  the  volume  contains  a 
number  of  others,  that  have  from  time  to 
time  aopeared  in  the  Spirit  of  the  Times, 
which  are  hard  to  beat."— 2V.  O.  Picayune. 

Price  50  Cents.    (Complete.) 

THE  YANKEE 
AMONGST  THE  MERMAIDS, 

BY  W.  E.  BURTON,  COMEDIAN. 
WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY  DARLEY, 

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The  Yankee  amongst  the  Mermaids;  a 
Yarn  by  a  Cape  Codder,  with  an  illustration 
— Leap  Year;  or,  A  Woman's  Privilege — The 
Two  Pigs,  a  Swinish  Colloquy— Thaumatur- 
gia;  Part  First,  The  Yankee  in  Hell,  with  an 
illustration;  Part  Second.  The  Resurrection- 
i,-:ts;  Part  Third,  The  Canal-boat;  Part  Fourth, 
The  Last  an,  the  Least — My  First  Fight,  with 
an  illustration — Immiscible  Immigration,  a 
petty  Peter  Pindaric — Sam  Weller,  a  Solilo 
quy  in  Verse — The  Pic-Nic  Party,  with  two 
illustrations — The  Poetry  of  Niagara — A  Wet 
Day  at  a  Watering  Place — My  First  Punch, 
with  an  illustration — The  Scapegrace  and  the 
i,  Scapegoat,  a  Matter-of-fact  Sketch— The  Old 
(  Dutchman  and  his  Long  Box,  with  an  illus 
tration — The  Man  in  the  Big  Boots — Dickey 
Doddicombe,  with  an  illustration — Philadel 
phia  in  the  Dog-days — Ac.  &c. 

"The  drollest  specimen  of  waggery  that 
ever  emanated  from  that  drollest  of  men, 
Burtoii."—  The  City  Item. 


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ODD  LEAVES  FROM  THE  LIFE 

LOUISIANA  "SWAMP  DOCTOR," 

BY  MADISON  TENSAS,  M.D. 

EX  V.  P.  M.  S.  C.  KY. 

CONTENTS. 

The  City  Physician  versus  The  Swamp  Doc 
tor — My  Early  Life — Getting  acquainted  with 
the  Medicines — A  Tight  Race  considerin' — 
Taking  Good  Advice— The  Day  of  Judgment 
— A  Rattlesnake  on  a  Steamboat — Frank  nnd 
the  Professor«-The  Curious  Widow— The  Mis 
sissippi  Patent  Plan  for  pulling  Teeth — Vale 
rian  and  the  Panther — Seeking  a  Location — 
Cupping  an  Irishman — Being  Examined  for 
my  Degree — Stealing  a  Baby — The  "  Swamp 
Doctor''  to  Esculapius — My  First  Call  in  the 
Swamp — The  Man  of  Aristocratic  Dise?.ses-- 
The  Indefatigable  Rear-hunter — Love  in  a 
Garden— How  tocureFite-  A  Struggle  for  Life. 


A.  IIART'S  HUMOROUS   LIBRARY. 


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THE 

WIDOW  RUGBY'S  HUSBAND, 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  JOHNSON  J.  HOOPER,  Esq. 
Author  of  "Adventures  of  Captain  Simon 


WITH   ILLUSTRATIONS    BY    ELLIOTT. 

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Intelligible  to  the  compositor."  —  r'alada. 
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"  This  is,  of  course,  quite  full  of  fun  —  '  all 
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original  comic  illustrations."  —  Am.  Courier. 

"This  book  is  by  the  favorite  and  witty 
author  of  ;  Adventures  of  Simon  Suggs,'  with 
original  designs  by  the  inimitable  Darley. 
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Bide  of  Westeru  and  South'-™  life.  if  you 
•would  enjoy  a  broad  laugh,  buy  it.''  —  City 
Item. 

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lovers  of  mirth.  His  is  the  only  'library'  of  \ 
the  kind  in  the  couutry,  where  genuine  hu 
mor  is  measured  out  in  periodical  doses.  au<l 
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capital  one  it  is.  The  last  lot  is  labelled 
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MISSISSIPPI    SCENES: 

OR,    SKETCHES   OP 

SOUTHERN  LIFE  AND  ADVENTURE. 

BY  JOS.  B.  COBB. 

"The  peculiar  manners  and  odd  customs, 
the  curious  ways,  and  still  more  curious  peo 
ple  who  reside,  live,  or  float  on  the  great 
river,  are  passed  in  review,  and  pleasant 
stories  are  told  about  them." — Boston  Even 
ing  Gazette. 

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'•  We  have  here  a  neat  volume  of  sketches 
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sent  volume  is  confined  entirely  to  scenes  of 
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trative  of  life  in  Mississippi;  and,  happily, 
for  the  most  part,  not  the  low  comic  life  af 
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own  State.  To  all  who  would  enjoy  an  enter 
taining  volume,  we  commend  this  work." — 
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relations  are  blended  with  satire  and  broad 
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NOBODY'S    SON: 

OR, 

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WRITTEN  BY  HIMSELF. 
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from  whom  we  hope  to  hear  again.  It  is  full 
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press  of  Pickering,  (the  modern  Aldus.)  in 
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complete  works  of  the  illustrious  philoso 
pher,  those  in  Latin  being  translated  into 
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pieces,  and  scattered  to  the  four  winds. 
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THE 


THE 


UJritra  nf 


WITH    A    SURVEY  OP   THE  INTELLECTUAL 

HISTORY,  CONDITION,  AND  PROSPECTS 

OP  THE  COUNfKY. 

BY   RUFUS  WILMOT  GRISWOtD. 

FOURTH   EDITION,   REVISED. 

Illustrated  with  Portraits  from  Original 
Pietures, 

Complete  in  one  volume  octavo — 83  50. 
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E  Xtto  anfc  (Dfjcap  *E&(tum 

OP   THE    HISTORY    OF    THE 

FRENCH  REVOLUTION, 

BY  M.  A.  TIIIEKS, 

LATE    PRIME    MINISTER   OF    FRANCE. 

Translated  from  the  French,  with  Notes  and 

Additions. 

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HISTORY    OF    FRANCE 

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Wnlm  nf 


BY  F,  H,  HEDGE, 


ILLUSTRATED  WITH  PORTRAITS. 

The  work  mentioned  above  comprises  a 
list  of  the  most  eminent  writers  of  Germany, 
together  with  copious  extracts  from  their 
works,  beginning  with  LUTHER  and  reaching 
up  to  the  present  time.  For  those  who  are 
interested  in  the  literature  of  Germany,  it 
presents  a  valuable  aid  in  becoming  more 
intimately  acquainted  with  the  German 
i  mind ;  and  even  to  the  curious  it  offers  aq 

<  excitement  which  will  grow  stronger  in  pro- 
i  portion  as  their  taste  is  cultivated. 

;      In  the  present  volume  we  find  valuable  ex- 

>  tracts,  given  from  their  prose  writings.     Al- 

>  though  the  writers  follow  in  chronological 
\  order,  and  LUTHER  stands  at  the  head  of  his  in- 
I  tellectual  brethren,  the  longest  space  is  allow 
ed  to  those  who  claim  our  greatest  attention ; 
and  GOETHE  therefore  occupies  the  most  con 
spicuous  position  both  in  the  specimens  given 
and  the  selection  of  the  pieces.    GOETHE  is  a 
writer  who  requires  most  of  all  to  be  studied ; 
while  others,  as  SCHILLER,  in  his  passionate 
mood  and  ideal  longings,  requires  no  silent 
and  incessant  reflection,  because  he  works 
his  effects  immediately  by  rousing  the  depth 
of  our  nature.    Next  to  GOETHE,  SCHILLER 
appears  in  an  article  upon  Naive  and  Senti- 

|  mental  Poetry,  a  bold  effort  of  him,  the  suc- 
;  cess  of  which  is  however  yet  very  disputed, 

<  to  classify  every  produce  of  Art  according  to 
(  the  impressions  made  upon  the  reader,  and 
;  to  dispense  with  the  various   and   cumber- 
J  some  forms  of  the  departments  into  which 
\  we  have  been   accustomed  hitherto  to  ar- 
/  range  all  subjects  bearing  upon  poetry.   The 
)  department    upon    which    SCHILLER    enters 
$  here,  belongs  properly  to  the  philosophy  of 
I  Art ;  to  the  aesthetics,  the  investigation  of 
I  the  beautiful. 

;      Foremost  stands  LKSSING,  the  first  critic  of 
?  his  time.     Next  to  him  comes  HERDER,  a  da- 

>  vout  philosopher,  and  a  clear-sighted  intel- 
•  lect.   with    the  eyes  of  a  child ;  curious   to 
I  penetrate  the  maze  and  noisy  market  of  tha 

>  world,  the  variegated  lift:  among  the  ancients 

>  and  the  moderns  in  search  for  that  Beautiful 
I  humanity  which  he  had  sketched  in  his  own 
I  mind,  and  which  he  would  fain  proclaim  the 
\  order  of  an  otherwise  mysterious  providence. 
'  The   two   brothers   SCHLEOKI, — William,  the 

noble  interpreter  and  translator    of  Shaks- 
peare,  and  Frederic,  known  best  by  his  in 
vestigations  of  the  language  and  wisdom  of 
'-  the    Indians — follow  him,  and  MOSES    ME.V- 
(  DELSSOIIN,  a  Jewish  philosopher,   closes   the 
:  series  of  these  writers.     The  treatise  of  the 
;  lattor  on  the  SuMime  and  Naive  will  be  read 

>  with  interest  by  everybody  who  has  only  an 
)  ordinary    reading    of    ancient   and   modern 
:  poi  try.     Distinct  from  all  the  rest  stand  \Vi»- 
;  LAND  and  JEAN   PAUL   UICHTER,  best  known 
$  iu  this  country  by  the  appellation  of  JBAM 

!  i'AUL. 


A.  HART'S  NEW  WORKS. 


RECENTLY  PUBLISHED, 

IK    TWO  VOLUMES,  POST    8VO.,  WITH    PORTRAITS,  CLOTH,  EXTRA  GILT,   $2. 

MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

COURT  OF  MARIE  AHTOIMETTE, 

(QUEEN    OF   FRANCE.)* 

BY    MADAME    CAMPAN. 

First  Lady  of  the  Bed-chamber  to  the  Queen. 

With  a  Biographical  Introduction  from  "The  Heroic  Women  of  the 
French  Revolution." 

BY    M.    DE    LAMARTINE. 


OPINIONS  OF  THE  PRESS. 

"TRE  book  is  a  noble  defence  of  Marie  An-  <  that  ever  shared  the  honours  of  royalty 
toinette  against  the  many  calumnies  breathed  >  Compiled  by  one  every  way  competent  by 
ugainst  her.  Moreover,  as  a  picture  of  man-  >  talent  and  education,  and  qualified  by  per- 


ners  during  the  latter  years  of  Louis  XV., 
and  the  entire  reign  of  his  successor,  it  has 
no  superior;  it  is  at  once  more  decent  and 
more  veracious  than  the  '  Life  of  Dubarry,' 
and  the  thousand  other  garbled  memoirs  of 
that  period.  A  large  number  of  notes,  ex 
planatory  and  otherwise,  accompany  the 
volume,  and  add  materially  to  its  value. 
Mr.  Hart  has  published  the  book  in  a  style 
of  great  elegance,  and  illustrated  it  with 
portraits,  on  steel,  of  Marie  Antoinette  and 
Madame  Elizabeth.  It  is  a  book  that  should 
fiud  a  place  on  every  lady's  centre-table." — 


sonal  familiarity,  the  facts  are  entitled  to  the 
confidence  of  the  reader,  while  the  style  ia 
piquant  aud  graceful.  The  work  is  got  up 
in  a  very  superior  style  of  mechanical  exe 
cution." — Baltimore  Sun. 

•l  \Vo  have  seldom  perused  so  entertaining 
a  work — it  is  as  a  mirror  of  the  most  splendid 
court  of  Europe,  at  a  time  when  monarchy 
had  not  been  shorn  of  any  of  its  beams,  that 
it  is  particularly  worthy  of  our  attention." — 
Mom  ing  C/i  ron  icle. 

"There  is  not  a  page  of  the  work  which  is 
not  deeply  or  amusingly  interesting.  The 


ing. 
Real's  Gazette.  \  position  of  the  author  at  the  court  of  Louis 

"Two  very  interesting  volumes,  which  the  j  XVI.  gave  her  extraordinary  opportunities 
read;;r  will  not  be  likely  to  leave  till  he  has  j  for  looking  behind  the  scenes  for  the  causes 
finished  them." — Public  Ledger.  ?  of  much  that  was  entirely  inexplicable  to 

"The  material  of  this  history  could  not!  the  public.  Indeed,  there  cau  be  no  ques- 
have  emanated  from  a  more  authentic  or  of-  <  tion  of  her  knowledge,  while  of  her  truthful- 
ficial  source,  nor  have  been  honoured  with  a  \  ness,  as  far  as  she  goes,  there  is  abundant 
more  distinguished  or  capable  god-father  ^  evidence  in  the  volumes  themselves.  We 
than  De  Lamartine." — Saturday  Courier.  2  cannot  believe  Marie  Antoinette  to  have 

"  These  elegant  volumes  are  a  reprint  from  i  been  as  immaculate  as  she  is  painted  by 
the  third  London  edition  of  this  very  delight- '  Madame  Campan.  Young,  giddy,  inexperi- 
ful  work.  The  vicissitudes  depicted  ia  the  >  erieed  and  wilful,  she  was  cast  headlong  into 
volumes,  and  scarcely  less  the  charming  )  the  most  profligate  court  of  Christendom, 
style  of  the  author  and  the  entire  familiarity  J  Surrounded  by  pleasures  and  temptations, 
of  her  theme,  make  the  work  one  of  the  most  5  amid  a  set  of  beings  to  whom  gallantry  was 


interesting  that  has  recently  issued  from  the 
American  press,  and  no  less  instructive  and 


entertaining."  —  JV.  Ir.  Commer-->'il 

'This   delightful    work,    abounding    with 


so  habitual  that  it  ceased  to  be  remarked — 
ith    an    impotent   husband,   and   with   all 


around  him  corrupt,  venal,  and  licentious, 
we   cannot  believe   that  all  the  scandalous 

historical  incidents  connected  with  one  of  the  j  stories  ri'-'pecting  the  queen  were  entirely 
most  stirring  periods  of  French  history,  pre-  >  without  foundation,  that  she  was  ti/ivayi 
Bents  the  reader  with  the  personal  annals  of  £  misconstrued  and  maligned." — Boston  Morn* 
one  of  the  most  amiable  aud  excuiieut  women  i  ing  Post. 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD    WORKS. 

THE     MODERN    BRITISH    ESSAYISTS 
At  less  than  Half  Price. 

The  great  success  thai  has  attended  the  publication  of 

THE  MODERN  ESSAYISTS, 

Comprising  the  Critical  and  Miscellaneous  Writings  of  the  Most  Distinguished  Authors 
of  Modern  Times,  has  induced  the  publishers  to  issue  a  New.  Revised  and  very  Ch»,ap 
Edition,  with  Finely  Engraved  Portraits  of  the  Authors;  and  while  they  have  idded  to 
the  series  the  writings  of  several  distinguished  authors,  they  have  reduced  the  price  more 
than 

ONE  HALF. 

The  writings  of  each  author  will  generally  be  comprised  in  a  single  octavo  volume, 
well  printed  from  new  type,  on  fine  white  paper  manufactured  expressly  for  this  edition. 
The  series  will  contain  all  the  most  able  papers  that  have  EVER  APPEARED  IN 

THE    EDINBURGH    REVIEW, 
CTljc  Hontoon  4Xuarterli>  lUbfcto,  and  33lacfctoooto's  fttaga;fnet 

and   may   indeed   be  called   the  CREAM  of  those  publications. 

It  is  only  necessary  to  mention  the  names  of  the  authors  whose  writings  will  appear.  T. 
BAHINRTON  MACAULAY,  ARCHIBALD  ALISON.  REV.  SYDNEY  SMITH,  PROFKSSOR  WILSON, 
JAMES  STEPHEN,  ROBERT  SOUTH EY.  SIR  WALTER  SCOTT.  LOUD  JEFFREY,  SIR  JAMES  MAI.K- 
Lvro'.H,  T.  NOON  TALFOURD,  J.  G.  LOCKHART,  REG  VALD  HEBER. 

The  popularity  of  the  authors  and  the  extreme  moderatic..  of  the  price,  recommend 

THE    (V100ERN    ESSAYISTS, 

To  HEADS  OF  FAMILIES  for  their  Children,  as  perfect  models  of  style.    ' 

To  MANAGERS  OF  BOOK  SOCIETIES.  Book  CJubs,  &c. 

To  SCHOOL  INSPECTORS.  SCHOOLMASTERS  AND  TUTORS,  as  suitable  gifts  and  prizes,  or 
aJapted  for  School  Libraries. 

TRAVELLERS  ON  A  JOURNEY  will  find  in  these  portable  and  cheap  volumes  something  to 
read  on  the  road,  adapted  to  fill  a  corner  in  a  portmanteau  or  carpet-bag 

To  PASSENGERS  ON  BOARD  A  SHIP,  here  are  ample  materials  in  a  narrow  compass  for 
whiling  away  the  monotonous  hours  of  a  sea  voyage. 

To  OFFICERS  IN  THE  ARMY  AND  NAVY,  and  to  all  Economists  in  space  or  pocket,  who, 
having  limited  chambers,  and  small  book-shelves,  desire  to  lay  up  for  themselves  a  concen 
trated  Library,  at  a  moderate  expenditure. 

To  ALL  WHO  HAVE  FRIENDS  IN  DISTANT  CoDi«TRiE8,  as  an  acceptable  present  to  send 
out  to  them. 

THE  MOD-RN  ESSAYISTS  wili  yield  to  the  Settlfr  in  the  Backwoods  of  America  the  most 
•valuable  and  interesting  writings  of  fill  the  most  distinguished  authors  of  our  time  at  less 
than  one  Quarter  the  price  they  could  be  obtained  in  any  other  form. 

THE  STUDENT  AND  LOVER  OF  LITERATURE  at  Home,  who  has  hitherto  been  compelled 
to  wade  through  volumes  of  Reviews  for  a  single  article,  may  now  become  possessed  of 
every  article  worth  reading  for  little  more  than  the  cost  of  the  annual  subscription. 

Ranke's  History  of  the  Popes.  Cowley  and 
Milton,  Mitford's  History  of  Greece,  The 
Athenian  Orators,  Comic  Dramatists  of  the 
Restoration.  Lord  Holland,  Warren  Hast 
ings.  Fre<!eric  the  Great.  Lays  of  Ancient 
__  j  Rome.  Madame  D'Arblay,  Addison,  Ba- 

WRI"1   INGS   OF  rere's  MemoVrs.  Montgomery's  Poems.  Civil 

THOMAS  BAEINGTON   MACAULAY.  }  Disabilities  of  the  Jews,  Mill  on  Govi-rn- 


CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 


In  One  Volume,  icith  a  finely  engraved 

portrait,  from  an  original  pirture 

by  Henry  Inman.     Cloth  Gilt, 

S2  W). 

Contents. 

Milton.  Machiavelli.  Dryden.  History, 
Hailam's  Constitutional  History,  Southey's 
Colloquies  on  Society.  Moore's  Life  of  By 
ron.  Southey's  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 
Croker's  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  Lord 
Nugent's  Memoirs  of  Hampden.  Nare's  .Me 
moirs  of  Lord  Burghley,  Dumont's  Recol 
lections  of  Mirabeau,  Lord  Mahon's  Warof 
the  Succession,  ..Walpole's  Letters  to  Sir  H. 
Mann.  ThacK-aray's  H'storv  of  Enrl  Chat 
ham,  t-ofd  Bacon,  Mackmtosn-s  h, story  o<" 


tnt-ni.  Bentham's  Defence  of  Mill,  Utilita- 
r  an  Theory  of  Government,  and  Earl  Chat 
ham  second  part.  &c, 

u  It  n:ay  now  be  asked  by  some  sapient 
critic*.  Why  make  all  this  coil  about  a  mere 
period. ci  '.  essayist?  Of  what  possible  con 
cern  is  it  tc  anybody,  whether  Mr.  Thomas 
Babington  Macaulay  be,  or  be  not.  overrun 
with  faults,  sirce  he  is  nothing  more  than 
one  of  the  three-ilay  immortals  who  contri 
bute  flashy  anJ  '  'akmg'  articles  to  a  Quar 
terly  Review  ?  What  great  work  has  he 
written?  Such  questions  as  these  might  bo 
put  by  the  same  men  who  place  the  Specta 
tor.  Tattler  and  Ramb.et  among  the  British 
class  cs.  yet  judge  of  the  s.ze  of  a  co tempo 
rary's  mind  by  that  of  his  book,  and  who 


the  Revolution  of  England.  Sir  John  Mai-  J  can  nanny  rer'oenize  amplitude  of  compre- 
colm's  Life  of  I>ord  Clive.  Life  and  Writings  J  hension,  unless~it  be  snreao.  over  the  six 
of  S:r  VV.  Temple,  Church  and  State,  5  hundred  pages  of  octavos  iad 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD    WORKS. 


fei«eh  ia«n  would  nlace  Bancroftabove  Web- 
Btcr.  ani  SparKS  above  Ualhoun,  Adams  and 
Everett—  deny  a  posterity  for  Bryant's  Pha- 
natopsis,  and  predict  longevity  to  Pollok's 
Course  of  Time.  It  is  singular  that  the  sa 
gacity  which  can  detect  thought  only  in  a 
state  of  dilution,  is  not  sadly  graveled  when 
it  thinks  of  the  sententious  aphorisms  which 
have  survived  whole  libraries  of  folios,  and 
the  little  songs  wh'ch  have  outrun,  in  the 
race  of  fame,  so  many  enormous  epics.  — 
While  it  can  easily  be  demonstrated  that 
Macaulav's  writings  contain  a  hundred-fold 
more  matter  and  thought,  than  an  equal 
number  of  volumes  taken  from  what  are 
called,  par  eminence,  the  '  British  Essay- 
'.st.s,'  it  is  not  broaching  any  literary  heresy 
to  piedict,  that  they  will  sail  as  far  down 
the  stream  of  time,  as  those  eminent  mem 
bers  of  the  illustrious  family  of  British  elas 
tics."  - 

II. 

ARCHIBALD 


THE  CRITICAL  AND  MISCELLANEOUS 

WRITINGS  OF 
ARCHIBALD  ALISON, 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  HJ.VTOKY  OF  H.UROPK." 
In  One   Volume,  8vo    with  a  portrait. 

Price  91  25. 
CONTENTS. 

Chateaubriand,  Napoleon.  Bossuet,  Po 
land,  Madame  de  Stael,  National  Monu 
ments,  Marshal  Ney,  Robert  Bruce,  Paris 
in  1814,  The  Louvre  in  1814,  Tyrol.  France 
in  1KJ3,  Italy,  Scott,  Campbell  and  B>ron, 
Schools  of  Design,  Larnartine,  The  Copy- 
right  Question.  Michelet's  France.  Military 
Treason  and  Civic  Soldiers.  Arnold's  Rome, 
Mirabeau.  Bulwer's  Athens.  The  Reign  of 
Terror.  The  French  Revolution  of  If  30, 
The  Fall  of  Turkey,  The  Spanish  Revolu- 
.on  of  1820,  Karamsin's  Russia.  E  fleets  of 
.he  French  Revolution  of  1&>0.  Deserton  of 
Portugal,  Wellington.  Ciiriist  Struggle  in 
Spain.  The  Afghanistan  Expedition,  The 
Future,  fee.  &c.  —  — 
III. 


THE  WORKS   OF  THE 

REV.  SYDNEY  SMITH. 

Fine  Edition.     In  One  Volume,  with  a 
portrait.     Price  SJ    00 

"  Almost  every  thing  he  has  written  is  so 
characteristic  that  it  would  be  difficult  to 
attribute  it  to  any  other  man.  The  marked 
individual  features  and  the  rare  combina 
tion  of  -power  displayed  in  his  works,  give 
them  a  fascination  unconnected  with  the 
subject  of  which  he  treatsor  the  general  cor 
rectness  of  his  views.  He  sometimes  hits 
•lie  mark  in  the  white,  he  sometimes  misses 
>i  altogether,  for  he  by  no  means  confines 
his  pen  to  theories  to  which  he  is  calculated 
r.o  do  jiist'ce;  out  whether  he  hits  or  misses, 
he  is  always  sparkling  and  delightful.  The 
cnarm  of  his  writings  is  somewhat  similar 
in  that  of  Montaigne  or  Charles  Lamb  "  — 
/V<»*<A  American  Review. 


FB.OFBSSO&  WXUSOlt. 

THE  RECREATIONS  OF 

CHRISTOPHER  NORTH, 

In  One  Volume  8vo.,  first  American  Edition 
with  a  Portrait.      Price  SI  00. 

CONTENTS. 

Christopher  in  his  Sporting  Jacket— A 
Tale  of  Expiation — Morning  Monologue — 
The  Field  of  Flowers— Cottages—  An  Hour's 
Talk  about  Poetry— Inch  Cruin— A  Day  at 
Windermere— -The  Moors — Highland  Snow- 
Storm— The  Holy  Child— Our  Parish— May- 
day— Sacred  Poetiy— Christopher  in  his 
Aviary— Dr.  Kitchiner— Soliloquy  on  the 
Seasons— A  Few  Words  on  Thomson— 
The  Snowball  Bicker  of  Piedmont — Christ 
mas  Dreams — Our  Winter  Quarters — Strol1 
to  Grafsmere — L'Envoy. 

Extract  from  Hewitt's  "  Rural  Life?"1 

"And  not  less  for  that  wonderful  series 
of  articles  by  Wilson,  in  Blackwood's 
Magazine—  in  their  kind  as  truly  amazing 
and  as  truly  glorious  as  the  romances  of 
Scott  or  the  poetry  of  Words  worth.  Far  and 
wide  and  much  as  these  papers  have  been 
admired,  wherever  the  English  language  11 
read.  I  still  question  whether  any  one  man 
has  a  just  idea  of  them  as  a  whole." 


Carlyie's  Miscellanies, 
CRITICAL  AKD  "MISCELLANEOUS 

ESSAYS   OF 
THOMAS  CARLYLE. 

In  one  Qvo.  volume,  with  a  Portrait. 

PRICE  $1  75. 
CONTENTS. 

Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Richter — State  of 
German  Literature  —  Werner  —  Goethe's 
Helena— Goethe— Burns— Hey  ne— German 
Playwrights— Voltaire— Novalis— Signs  o< 
the  Times— Jean  Paul  Friedrich  Riehter 
again- On  History— Schiller — The  Nibel- 
hingen  Lied— Early  German  Literature — 
Taylor's  Historic  Survey  ofGerman  Poetry 
-  Characteristics-  Johnson—  Death  of  Go 
ethe—Goethe's  Works-  Diderot-  On  His 
tory  again— Count  Cagliostro— Corn  Law 
Rhymes- The  Diamond  Necklace- Mira 
beau— French  Parliamentary  History  — 
Walter  Scott,  &c.  &c. 

TALFOTTRDJc  STEPHEN 

THE  CRITICAL  WRITINGS 

OF 

T.  NOON  TALFOURD 

AND 

JAMES  STEPHEN 

WITH  A   FINELY  ENGRAVED  PORTRAIT. 

In  One  Volume,  8vo.      P»ice  81  V?6. 


A.  HART'S  STANDARD   WORKS. 


Content*  of  «  Talfowrd." 

Essays  on  British  Novels  and  Romances, 
introductory  to  a  series  of  Criticisms  on  the 
Liv  nig  Novelists — Mackenzie,  The  Author 
of  \Vaverley,  Godwin.  Maturiu,  Rymer  on 
Tragedy,  Colley  Cibber's  Apology  for  his 
Life.  John  Dennis's  Works.  Modern  Pe 
riodical  Literature,  On  the  Genius  and 
Writings  of  Wordsworth,  North's  Life  of 
Lord  Guilford,  Hazlitt's  Lectures  on  the 
Drama,  Wallace's  Prospects  of  Mankind, 
Nature  and  Providence,  On  Pulpit  Ora 
tory,  Recollections  of  Lisbon,  Lloyd's 
Poems.  Mr  Oldaker  on  Modern  Improve 
ments,  A  Chapter  on  Time.  On  the  Profes 
sion  of  the  Bar,  The  Wine  Cellar,  Destruc 
tion  of  the  Brunswick  Theatre  by  Fire, 
First  Appearance  of  Miss  Fanny  Kemble. 
On  the  Intellectual  Character  of  the  late 
Wm.  Hazliu. 

Contents  of  «  Stephen." 

Life  of  Wilberforce.  Life  of  Whitfield  and 
Froude,  D'Aubigne's  Reformation,  Life  and 
Times  of  Baxter,  Physical  Theory  of  Ano 
ther  Life,  The  Port  Royalists,  Ignatius  Loy 
ola,  Taylor's  Edwin  the  Fair. 

"  His  (Talfourd's)  Critical  writings  mani 
fest  on  every  page  a  sincere,  earnest  and 
sympathizing  love  of  intellectual  excel 
lence  and  moral  beauty.  The  kindliness 
of  temper  and  tenderness  of  sentiment  with 
which  they  are  animated,  are  continually 
•uggesting  pleasant  thoughts  of  the  author." 
—North  American  Review . 

VII. 

LORD  JEFFREY. 

THE  CRITICAL  WRITINGS 

OF 

HIANCIS  LORD  JEFFREY. 

In  One  Volume  81-0.,  with  a  Portrait. 

From  a  very  able  article  in  the  North 
British  Review  we  extract  the  following  : 

"It  is  a  book  not  to  be  read  only— but 
Biudied— it  is  a  vast  repository;  or  rather 
a  system  or  institute,  embracing  the  whole 
circle  of  letters — if  we  except  the  exact 
sciences— and  contains  within  itself,  not  in 
ft  desultory  form,  but  in  a  well  digested 
scheme,  more  original  conceptions,  bold 
and  fearless  speculation  and  just  reasoning 
on  all  kinds  and  varieties  of  subjects  than 
are  to  be  found  in  any  English  writer  with 
whom  we  are  acquainted  within  the  pre 
sent  or  the  last  generation.  *  *  *  His 
choice  of  words  is  unbounded  and  his  feli 
city  of  expression,  to  the  most  impalpable 
shade  of  discrimination,  almost  miraculous. 
Playfu.,  lively,  and  full  of  illustration,  no 
fciibjfct  is  so  dull  or  so  dry  that  he  cannot 
invest  it  with  interest,  and  none  so  tr.uing 
that  it  cannot  acquire  dignity  or  elegance 
from  his  pencil.  Independently  however, 
of  mere  style,  and  apart  from  the  great 
variety  of  subjects  embraced  by  his  pen, 
the  distinguishing  feature  of  his  writings, 
mid  that  in  which  he  excels  his  cotempo- 
rnry  reviewers,  is  the  deep  vein  of  practical 
thought  wiuca  runs  throughout  them  ail  " 


VIII 

SIR  JAKES  MACKINTOSH, 

SIR  JAMES  M"ACKINTOSH:S 

CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  THE  EDIN- 

BORGIL  REVIEW. 

Collected  and  Edited  by  his  Son. 

In  One  Volume  8vo.,  with  a  Portrait,  $1  75. 

THE    POEMS 

OP 

FRANCES  SARGENT  OSGOOD, 

Illustrated  ijj  it*  tost  artists. 

In  one  volume  octavo,  uniform  with  Carey  <& 
Hart's  illustrated  Bryant,  Willis,  e£c. 

The  following  exquisitely  finished  line  en 
gravings  are  from  original  designs,  by  our 
most  celebrated  painters,  and  are  executed  in 
the  highest  style  of  art  :—  Portrait  of  the  Au 
thoress;  Hope;  A  Child  playing  with  a 
Watch;  The  Reaper;  Ida;  Old  Friends;  Tha 
Child's  Portrait;  Little  Red  Riding  Hood; 
The  Life  Boat;  Twiligh 
and  his  Steed  ;  Zuleika. 


The  Life  Boat;  Twilight  Hours;  The  Arab 


ding 
;  Th 


There  is  nothing  mechanical  about  her  ; 
all  is  buoyant,  overflowing,  irrepressible  vi 
vacity,  like  the  bubbling  up  of  a  natural 
fountain.  In  her  almost  childish  ph'.yful 
ness,  she  reminds  us  of  that  exquisite  crea. 
tion  of  Fouque,  Undine,  who  knew  no  law 
but  that  of  her  own  waywardness.  The  great 
charm  of  her  poetry  is  its  unatfected  simpli 
city.  It  is  the  transparent  simplicity  "-f  truth, 
reflecting  the  feeling  of  the  moo.  -at  like  a 
mirror."  —  ffm.  Dr.  Davidson. 

"In  all  the  poems  of  Mrs.  Osgood,  we  ftiu.1 
occasion  to  admire  the  author  as  well  a-«  ;!M 
works.  Her  spontaneous  and  instinctive  elFu- 
fiions  appear,  in  a  higher  dejrree  than  any 
others  in  our  literature,  to  combine  the  rarest 
and  highest  capacities  in  art  with  the  shxvrest 
and  deepest  sentiments  and  the  nobles  i  a-;.i- 
rations.  They  would  convince  us,  ii'  the 
beauty  of  her  life  were  otherwise  unknown, 
that  Mrs.  Osgood  is  one  of  the  loveliest  cha 
racters  in  the  histories  of  literature  or  so 
ciety."  —  Pennsylvania  Inquirer  and  Courier. 

"The  position  of  .Mrs.  Osgood,  as  a  graceful 
and  womanly  poetess,  is  fixed,  and  will  bo 
enduring.  To  taste  of  faultless  delicrry.  a 
remarkable  command  of  poetical  language, 
great  variety  of  cadence,  and  a  most  uuisir.-il 
versification,  she  has  added  recently  the  high- 
est  qualities  of  inspiration,  imagination,  and 
passion,  in  a  degree  rarely  equalled  in  the 
productions  of  women.  .  .  .  The  reputation 
which  Mrs.  Osgood  enjoys,  as  one  of  the  most 
amiable,  true-hearted,  and  brilliant  ladies  in 
American  society,  will  add  to  the  good  for 
tune  of  a  book,  the  intrinsic  excellence  and 
beauty  of  which  will  set-uie  fur  it  ;i  ;>!ace 
aniung  the  standard  creatious  of  feu-ile  g»« 
Dm?  "  —  Home  Journal. 
9 


A.  HART'S   STANDARD    WORKS 
POETIC  AZ.  LIBRARY. 


THE    POETS   AND  POETRY   OF 
EUROPE,  ENGLAND,  AMERICA,  Etc. 

CAREY  &  H\RT  have  just  published  in  four  spl-mbd  volumes,  beautifully  illustrated, 
and  uniform  in  s,/«  w"h  their  new  edition  of  ••  THE  MODERN  ESSAYISTS"  and 
forming  a  suitable  companion  to  that  delightful  series:— 


THE 

POETS  AND  POETRY  OP  AMERICA: 

EMKRACIXCJ 

Selections    from     the     Poetical 

Literature      of     tlie     United 

States,  from  tUc  Time  of 

the  lie  volution, 

WITH  A 

Preliminary  Essay  on  the  Progrfts  and 
Condition  of  Pot-try  in  thin  Coun 
try,  an  ft  Riogrfiphiralanrl  Cri 
tical  Notices  of  the  most 

eminent  Poets. 
BY  RUFUS  \V.  GRISWOLD. 

EIGHTH  EDITION,  REVISED  AND  ENLARGED. 

Elegantly  bound  in  Col'd  Calf  and  Morocco. 
Price  95  00,  or  in  Cloth  (iilt-  #3  "0 

"  We  think  in  the  500  pages  of  this  ueau 
tiful  volume,  the  reader  will  fiud  near'v  ah 
that  is  wonh  reading  in  American  Poeay  " 
—Boston  Post. 

"Mr.  O  has  done  a  service  to  our  lit'-ra- 
ture  which  eminently  entitles  him  to  the  re 
gard  and  favor  of  a  discerning  and  impartial 
p(l\)\\c»— National  Intelligencer, 

"  No  better  selection  from  the  poetry  of 
our  native  bards  has  ever  been  made,  and 
no  person  could  do  belter  with  the  mate 
rials  than  Mr.  Griswold  has  done." — Boston 
Transcript. 

THE 

POETS  AND  POETRY  OF  EUROPE: 

WITH 

Biographical  Notices  and 
Translations, 

From  the  Earliest  Period  to  the  Present 

Time 

BY  HENRY  W.  LONGFELLOW. 
In  One  Large  8vo.  Volume,  750  Pages. 
Morocco  elegant,  $5  50,  or  cloth  gilt,  ft3  75. 
Which  comprises  translations  from  the  fol 
lowing:   Anglo-Saxon.  Icelandic,  Swe 
dish,  Dutch.  German.  French,  Ita 
lian,  Spanish,  Portuguese,  &c. 

&.C. 

"  Tt  is  the  most  complete  work  of  the  kind 
in  English  literature  " — Boston  Courier. 

"  A  more  desirable  work  (or  the  scholar 
Or  man  of  taste  lias  scarcely  ever  been  is- 
fuediatae  United  States."— JY.  Y.  Tribune 
10 


ILLUSTRATED  POEMS. 

BY  MRS,  L  H.  SIGOURNEY, 

With  Designs  by  F.  O.  C.  Barley, 

ENGRAVED  BY  DISTINGUISHED  ARTISTS. 

With  a  Portrait  of  the  Authoress  by  Cheney 
after  Freeman. 

LIST  OF   ILLUSTRATIONS. 

The  Divided  Burden — A  Landscape — Oris- 
ka — The  Ancient  Family  Clock — Eve — The 
Scottish  Weaver — The  Indian  Summer— 
Erin's  Daughter — The  Western  Emigrant— 
The  Aged  Pastor— The  Tomb— The  Drooping 
Team— The  Beautiful  Maid. 

''The  volume  is  a  most  luxurious  and  gor 
geous  one,  reflecting  the  highest  credit  on 
its  'getters  up:'  and  we  know  of  nothing 


from  the  American  press  which  would  form 
,  a  more  acceptable  gift-book,  or  a  richer  orua- 
,  ment  for  the  centre-table.  Of  the  Poems 
,  themselves  it  is  needless  to  speak." — Y.Blade. 
I  "In  the  arts  of  typography  the  volume  is 
unsurpassed;  the  illustrations  are  numerous 
and  beautiful,  and  the  binder's  skill  has  done 
its  best.  We  shall  speak  only  of  the  exter 
nals  of  the  volume.  Of  its  contents  we  will 
not  speak  flippantly,  nor  is  it  needful  that 
we  should  say  any  thing.  The  name  of  Mrs. 
Sigourney  is  familiar  in  every  cottage  in 
America.  She  has,  we  think,  been  more 
generally  read  than  any  poetess  in  the  coun 
try,  and  her  pure  fi-nie  is  reverently  cherished 
by  all." — N.  O.  Picayune.. 

"  It  is  illustrated  in  the  most  brilliant 
manner,  and  is  throughout  a  gem-volume." — 
Pa.  Inquirer. 

"In  this  production,  however,  they  have 
excelled  themselves.  The  illustrations  are 
truly  beautiful,  and  are  exquisitely  engraved. 
The  entire  execution  of  the  volume  is  a  proud 
evidence  of  the  growing  superiority  of  book- 
making  on  the  part  of  American  publishers." 
— Dollar  Xf.wspapcr. 

"  This  work,  so  beautifully  embellished, 
and  elegantly  printed,  containing  the  select 
writings  of  one  of  the  most  celebrated  female 
poets  of  America,  cannot  fail  to  be  received 
with  approbation." — Xewburyport  Paper. 

'•The  illustrations  are  truly  beautiful,  and 
are  exquisitely  engraved.  They  are  from 
designs  by  Darley,  who  has  risen  to  high 
eminence  in  his  department  of  art.  The  en 
tire  execution  of  the  volume  is.  a  proud  evi 
dence  of  growing  superiority  in  book-making 
on  the  part  of  American  publishers.  And 
this  liberality  has  not  been  displayed  upon  a 
work  unworthy  of  it." — Jf.Y.VomnurritdAiii 


NEW    BOOKS 

RECENTLY  PUBLISHED   BY 

A,  HART,  late  CAREY  &  HART, 

No.  126  Chestnut  Street,  Philadelphia. 


HISTORICAL  AND  SECRET  MEMOIRS     PROSE  WRITERS  OP  GERMANY, 


OF  THE 

EMPRESS  JOSEPHINE, 

(Marie  Rose  Tascher  de  la  Pagerie,) 
FIRST    WIFE  OF   NAPOLEON   BONAPARTE. 

BY  MLLE.  M.  A.  LE  NORMAN.D. 

Translated  from  the   French  by  Jacob   M. 

Howard,  Esq. 

In  2  vols.,  700  pages,  muslin  extra  gilt. 

"It  possesses  great  intrinsic  interest.  It 
iB  a  chequered  exhibition  of  the  undress  life 
of  Napoleon.  All  the  glitter  and  pomp  and 
dust  01  glory  which  bewilder  the  mind  is 
laid;  and  we  behold  not  the  hero,  the  em 
peror,  the  guide  and  moulder  of  destiny, 
bui  a  poor  sickly  child  and  creature  of  cir 
cumstance— affrighted  by  shadows  and  tor 
tured  by  straws."—  Philada.  City  Item. 

u  This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  works 
of  the  day,  containing  a  multiplicity  of  in 
cidents  in  the  life  of  Josephine  and  her  re 
nowned  husband,  which  have  never  before 
been  in  print."—  N  O.  Times. 

"This  is  a  work  of  high  and  commanding 
interest,  and  derives  great  additional  value 
from  i he  fact  asserted  by  the  authoress,  that 
the  greater  portion  of  it  was  written  by  ihe 
empress  herself.  It  has  a  vast  amount  of 
information  on  the  subject  of  Napoleon's 
career,  with  copies  of  original  documents 
not  to  be  found  elst  where,  and  with  copious 
notes  at  the  end  of  the  work."—  N.  O  Com. 
Bulletin 

'•Aifords  the  reader  a  clearer  insight  into 
the  private  character  of  Napoleon  than  he 
can  obtain  through  any  other  source." — 
B<ilttmore  American. 

••They  are  agreeab'y  and  well  written; 
and  it  would  be  strange  if  it  were  not  so, 
enjoying  as  Josephine  did,  familiar  collo 
quial  intercourse  with  the  most  distinguish 
ed  men  and  minds  of  the  age.  The  work 
does  not,  apparently,  suffer  by  translation." 
—Baltimore  Patriot. 

"  It  is  the  history— in  part  the  secret  his 
tory,  written  by  her  own  hand  with  rare 
elegance  and  force,  and  at  times  with  sur 
passing  pathos  — of  the  remarkable  woman 
who,  by  the  greatness  of  her  spirit  was  wor 
thy  io  be  the  wife  of  the  soaring  Napolt  on. 
It  combines  all  the  value  of  authentic  his 
tory  wi'h  the  absorbing  interest  of  an  auto 
biography  or  exciting  romance." — Item. 


BY  FREDERICK  H.  HEDGE. 

ILLUSTRATED  WITH  EIGHT  PORTRAITS  AND  AW 

ENGRAVED  TITLE-PAGE,  FROM  A  DESIGN 

BY  LEUTZK. 

Complete  in  One  Volume  Octavo. 
Contents. 

Luther,  Boehme,  Sancta  Clara,  Moser, 
Kant,  Lessing,  Mendelssohn,  Hamann,\Vie« 
land,  Musaus,  Claudius,  Lavater,  Jacobi, 
Herder,  Gaulie,  Schiller,  Fichte,  Richter, 
A.  W.  Schlegel,  Sehleiermacher,  Hegel, 
Zschokke,  F.  ^chlegel,  Hardenberg, TiecL, 
Schellmg,  Hoffmann,  Chamisso. 

•'The  author  of  this  work — for  it  is  well 
entitled  to  the  name  of  an  original  produc 
tion,  though  mainly  consisting  of  transla 
tions—Frederick  H.  Hedge  of  Bangor,  i> 
qualified,  as  few  men  are  in  this  country, 
or  wherever  the  English  language  is  writ 
ten,  for  the  suocesstul  accomplishment  of 
the  great  literary  enterprise  to  which  he  has 
devoted  his  leisure  for  several  years. 

"Mr.  Hedge  has  displayed  great  wisdom 
in  the  selection  of  the  pieces  to  be  trans 
lated;  he  has  given  the  best  specimens  of 
the  best  authors,  so  far  as  was  possible  in 
his  limited  space. 

"  We  venture  to  say  that  there  cannot  be 
crowded  into  uie  same  compass  a  more 
faithful  representation  of  the  German  mind, 
or  a  richer  exhibition  of  the  profound 
thought,  subtle  speculation,  massive  learn 
ing  and  genial  temper,  that  characterize  th« 
mo*t  eminent  literary  men  of  that  nation." 
— Harbinger. 

"What  excellent  matter  we  here  have. 
The  choicest  gems  of  exuberant  fancy,  the 
most  polished  productions  of  scholarship, 
the  richest  flow  of  the  heart,  the  deepest 
lessons  of  wisdom,  all  translated  so  well  by 
Mr  Hedge  and  his  friends,  that  they  seem 
to  have  been  first  written  by  masters  af  the 
English  tongue  " — The  City  Item. 

«•  We  have  read  the  book  with  rare  plea 
sure,  and  have  derived  not  less  information 
than  enjoyment."—  Knickerbocker. 

"  The  selections  are  judicious  ard  tasteful, 
the  biographies  well  written  ana  compre 
hensive."—  Inquirer 
11 


NEW    BOOKS   PUBLISHED   BY   A.  HART. 


NAPOLEON 

THE  MARSHALS  OF  THE  EMPIRE, 

Complete  in  2  vols.  12mo., 

With  IS  Steel  Porttfiits  in  Military  Costume. 

Contents* 

Napoleon,  Jourdan,  Serruner,  Lannes, 
Biune,  Piirignon,  Oudinot,  Soult,  Davoust, 
Massena,  Mural,  Mortier,  Ney,  Poniatow- 
•ki,  Grouchy,  Bessieres,  Berthier,  Souchet, 
(Si  Cyr,  Victor,  Moncey,  Mannoni,  Mac- 
donald,  Beinadotte,  Augereau,  Lefehvre, 
Kellcrmann. 

The  biographies  are  twenty-seven  in 
number— Napoleon  and  his  twenty-six 
marshals,  being  all  those  created  by  him — 
and  therefore  these  pages  have  a  complete 
ness  about  them  which  no  other  work  of  a 
Similar  design  possesses 

The  style  is  clear  ard  comprehensive, 
and  the  book  may  be  relied  upon  for  'lisio- 
ncal  accuracy,  as  the  materials  have  t>een 
drawn  from  sources  the  most  authentic. 
The  Conversations  of  Napoleon,  with  Mon- 
tholon,  Gourgaud,  Las  Cases  and  Dr  O'- 
Meara  have  all  been  consulted  as  the  true 
basis  upon  which  the  lives  of  Napoleon 
and  his  commanders  under  him  should  be 
founded. 

"The  article  on  Napoleon,  which  occu 
pies  the  greater  part  ol  the  rim  volume,  is 
written  in  a  clear  and  forcible  style  and 
displays  marked  ability  in  the  author  Par 
ticular  attention  has  been  paid  to  the  early 
portion  of  Napoleon's  life,  which  other  wri 
ters  have  hurriedly  dispatched  as  though 
they  were  impatient  to  arrive  at  the  opening 
glories  of  his  great  career." — JV.  Y.  Mirror. 

"The  lives  of  the  Marshals  and  their 
Chief,  the  military  paladins  ol  the  gorgeous 
modern  romance  of  the  '  Krnpire.'  are  given 
with  historic  accuracy  ami  without  exng- 
geration  of  fact,  style  or  language."  —Bal 
timore  Patriot. 

"  We  have  long  been  convinced  that  the 
character  of  Napoleon  would  never  receive 
'even  handed  justice'  until  some  impartial 
and  intelligent  American  should  undertake 
the  task  of  weighing  his  mtriis  and  deme 
rits.  In  the  present  volume  this  has  been 
done  wiih  great  judgment.  We  do  not 
know  the  author  of  the  paper  on  Napoleon. 
but  whoever  he  may  be.  allow  us  10  say  to 
him  thai  he  has  exec uied  his  duly  better  than 
any  predecessor."—  Evening  Bulletin 

'"The  style  of  this  work  is  worthy  of  com 
mendation—plain,  pleasing  and  narrative. 
the  proper  style  of  history  and  biography 
in  which  the  reader  does  not  seek  fancy 
sketches,  and  dashing  vivid  pictures,  but 
what  the  work  professes  to  contain,  biogra- 

Phies.  We  commend  ihis  as  a  valuable 
•brary  book  worthy  of  preservation  as  a 
work  of  re  Terence,  after  having  been  read." 
— Unit  A?fieri-an. 

•'This  is  the  clearest,  most  concise,  and 

most  interesting  life  of  Napoleon   and   Ins 

marshals  which  has  yet  been  given  to  the 

public,     lae  arrangement  is  judic.ous  and 

12 


>the  charm  of  the  narrative  continues  uiV 
<  broken  to  the  end." — City  Item 
\  "The  publishers  have  spared  no  pains  or 
I  expense  in  its  production,  and  the  best  talent 
'  in  the  country  has  been  engaged  on  its  va- 
|  nous  histories.  The  style  is  plain  and  gra- 
|  phic,  and  the  reader  feels  that  he  is  perusing 
true  history  rather  than  the  rumblings  of  a 
>  romantic  mind."—  Lady's  Bock. 

''The  resultof  these  joint  labors  is  a  series 
of  narratives,  in  which  the  events  succeed 
each  other  so  rapidly,  and  are  of  so  marvel 
ous  a  cast,  as  to  require  only  the  method  in 
arrangement  and  the  good  taste  in  descrip 
tion  which  they  have  received  from  the 
hands  of  their  authors.  The  inflated  and 
the  Ossianic  have  been  happily  avoided." — 
Colonization  Herald. 

"  Their  historical  accuracy  is  unimpeach 
able,  and  many  of  them  (the  biographies) 
are  stamped  with  originality  of  thought  and 
opinion.  The  engravings  are  numerous  and 
very  line.  The  book  is  well  printed  on  fine 
white  paper,  and  substantially  bound.  It 
deserves  a  place  in  all  family  and  school 
libraries." — Bulletin. 

"  It  abounds  in  graphic  narratives  of  bat 
tles,  anecdotes  of  the  world-famed  actors, 
and  valuable  historical  information."—  Rich 
mond  Inquirer. 

"  \Ve  receive,  therefore,  with  real  plea 
sure,  this  new  publication,  having  assurance 
that  great  pains  have  been  taken  in  the  pre 
paration  of  each  individual  biography,  and 
especially  in  collating  the  various  authori 
ties  upon  the  early  history  of  the  Empr ror. 
There  appears  to  be  nowhere  any  attempt 
to  blind  the  reader  by  dazzlmg  epithets,  and 
the  accuracy  of  construction  throughout  is 
highly  creditable  to  the  editor."—  Commer 
cial  Advertiser  JV.  Y. 

"The  style  is  simplicity  itself,  wholly  free 
from  the  amusing  pomposity  and  absurd  in 
flation  thai  distinguish  some  of  the  works 
which  have  gone  before  it." 


BRYANT'S     POEMS. 

ILLUSTRATED   BY   TWENTY    SUPERB    ENGRAVINGS, 

From  Designs  by  E.  LEUTZE, 

Expressly  for  this  Volume, 
ENGRAVED    BY    AMERICAN   ARTISTS, 

And  printed  on  fine  Vellum  paper. 
COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME  OCTAVO. 

Sixth  Edition.    (Just  ready.) 

Price  85  00  bound  in  scarlet,  gilt  edges ;  or 
beautifully  bound  by  S.  Moor?,  in  calf 

or  Turkey  morocco,  $>7.00. 
"This  is  really  a  splendid  book,  and  one  of 
tbe  most  magnificent  of  Carey  &  Hart's  collec 
tion  of  "The  Illustrated  Poets.'"—  U.  S.  Oaz 
"Ttfe  'getting  up'  of  this  edition  is  credit/, 
able  in  tbe  highest  degree  to  the  publishers 
i  and  the  fine  arts  of  the  country.     The  paper 
(  binding,  and  the  engravings  are  all  of  tb« 
<  very  btst  kind."— Jnyuirer  and  Courier. 


NEW   BOOKS  PUBLISHED   BY  A.  HART. 
PETER   SCHLEMIHL. 

PETER  SCHLEMIHL  IN  AMEEICA. 

Complete  in  One  Volume,  12mo. 


"  The  object  of  this  work  is  to  4  catch  the 
manners  living  a?  they  rise'  in  connection 
with  the  antagonisms  of  the  present  day — 
' novelties  which  disturb  the  peace' — as  Swe- 
dcnborgianism,  Transcendentalism,  Fou- 
rierism,  and  other  isms.  The  author  has  unc*." — Godey's  Lady's  Book. 
made  these  pages  the  vehicle  of  valuab'e 


shown  up.  and  the  morals  of  the  book  are 
unexceptionable.  The  author  cannot  long 
escape  ue'ection,  in  spite  of  his  shadowy 
concealment,  and  if  a  new  practitioner  he 
wilt  j'unp  K)  the  head  of  his  profession  at 


*e  pages  the  vehicle  of  valuat.'e  .,  We  ^  prepared  to  say,  that  Peter 
information  on  all  the  topics  of  which  he  ? -$chlemihl  is  an  exceedingly  clear  and 

..Swell-written  work— that  the  author  has 

"Peter,  as  our  readers  may  reco.ect,sn.d  dis  ,  d  a  considerabie  amount  of  book 
his  shadow  to  a  Gen  lie  man  m  Back,  and  lore  ,n  |ts  composition-thai  the  story  is  in- 
upon  this  fable  the  American  adveutures  Jteresting  and  instructive  — that  we  have 
are  founded  The  author,  wnoever  ne  may  been  enusrtained  and  edified  by  lts  perusal, 
be  has  read  much,  and  oeen  V  least  '•l^A  tnnl  it  possesses  merits  of  more  than 
looker  on  in  Venice,'  -f  not  a  participator  ordinary  character.  We  cordially  recpm- 
of  tne  follies  of  lash  unable  Me  melld  lt'to  lhe  readim,  community,  since  we 

"  The  theologies  and  po.itical  criticism    are  sure  lnat  they  Wlll  be  benefitted  as  well 


is  inwoven  win.  a  tale  o'  fashionable  lit'e,^ 
and  the  reader  become*  not  a  little  interest 
ed  in  the  heroine.  Mrs  8mith.  who  certainly 
must  Ii3  /e  been  a  icmarkable  woman.  It 
is  new  it y  publish«-u,  and  will  be  extensively 
reau." — Bulletin. 

We  sha1'.  be  greatly  mistaken  if  this 


as  entertained  by  the  revelations  contained 
in  the  pages  of  Peter. —  The  National  Era. 

"A  strangely  conceived  and  ably  executed 
work."-  N.  O   Com.  Times. 

"The  work  forms  a  consecutive  tale,  all 
along  which  runs  a  vein  of  severe  satire, 

book  doec   not  kick  up"  a  whole   cloud  of<  an(1  which  at  eveiy  step  is  illustrated  by  a 
dust  "-  'I  he  City  Item  i  vast  "ea'  °«  valuable  information,  and  the 

"TU   work    is  characterized   by  much>  inculcation  of  sound  principles  of  morality 
learning  and  sincere  feeling  >'— JV.  Y.  Afirwl"^  religion.  '  It  is  a  work  which  is  adapted 
"One  of  the  most  entertaining  works  we    to  (1°  Kood>  6ulled  to  al1  intelligent  geirJr".l 
have  read  for  many  a  day,  as  well  as  one    readers,  and  a  pleasant  companion  for  me 
of  the  best  written.     Who  the  author  is  we    scholar's  leisure  hours."—  N.  Y.  Recorder. 


know  not;  but  we  do  know  that  the  book 
will  meet  with  a  rapid  sale  wherever  an 
inkling  of  its  character  leaks  out.  For 
watering  places,  or  anywhere,  during  the 


This  is  a  very  remarkable  production, 
and  unless  we  are  greatly  deceived,  it  in 
from  a  new  hand  at  the  literary  forge.  We 
have  read  every  page  of  this  thick  volume, 


hot  weather,  it  is  worth  its  weight  in — gold  /  and  have  been  strongly  reminded  of  South' 
we  almost  said.     It  is  full  of  everything  oft  ey's  great  book,  The  Doctor.     The  author  of 
the  best,  and  you  can  scarcely  open  it  at  [  this  work  must  be  a  man  of  close  observ" 
raiulom  without  striking  upon  some  sketch 
or  dialogue  to  enchain  the  attention." — Ger- 


manlnn'n  Telegraph. 

'  1  lis  stock  of  knowledge 


large ;  and  as 


his  conscience  is  rectified  by  Christian 
pr.nnple,  and  his  heart  beat?  in  unison 
with  the  right  and  the  true,  he  uses  his  trea 
sures  of  information  only  for  good  purposes. 
-The  book  belongs  to  that  class  of  novels 
which  make  an  interesting  story  the  me 
dium  for  the  communication  of  important 


lion,  much  research,  and  if  we  are  accurate 
in  our  estimate,  he  is  a  layman.  *  *  *  * 
This  same  book  will  make  a  sensation  ui 


many  quarters,  and  will  unquestionably 
create  a  name  and  reputation  for  its  author, 
who  forthwith  takes  his  place  among  the 
best  and  keenest  writers  ot  our  country.  *  • 
We  commend  it  to  the  grarett  and  gayest  o/ 
our  readers,  and  assure  them  that  our  own 
copy  w:ll  not  go  off  our  table  until  another 
Winter  has  passed  away.'1—  N.  Y.  Allianr.t 


nd  Visitor. 

The  volume  cannot  fail  to  be  read  exten- 


truth.     In  many   respects  it  is  a  peculiar 

work,  (litr<;ring  from  all  others  in  both  de-^ 

eign  and  execution,  and  leaving  the  irnpres-  5  sively  and  do  good      The  popular  '  tsms'  of 

Sion  that  it  is  the  product  of  a  mind  of  no    the  day,  their  folly  and  injurious  tendency, 

ordinary  power.          *          *          *        *  are  descanted  upon  with  mingled  gravity 

'•Those  who  love  to  think  And  feel,  as  the  and  humor,  and  considerable  ia,ent  and 
resultof  truthful  thought,  will  read  the  book  ]  truthful  feeling  are  shown  in  the  discus- 
with  interest  and  profit."  —  RefiectcrSf  Watch-  (  sion.  Whether  me  book  have  an  immediate 
man.  \  run  or  not,  the  soundness  of  its  views,  deli- 

"A  rare  book.     Who  \v  the  world  wrote  <  yered  with  some  quaintness  of  style,  will 
1H     Here  are  nearly   five  hundred   pages  (insure  it  permanent  popularity."  —  N.  York 
wi'.h   gems  on   every  one  of  them.     The  I  Commercial  Advertiser. 
entire  is  equal  to  that  of  Don  Quixote  or  j     '-Light,   sportive,  graceful   raillery,  ex- 
Asmodeus.      The    hits   at  society   in    this  (  pressed  with  terse  and  delicate  ease.  *** 
cpontry  are  admirable  and  well  pointed.!      "It  is  a  novel  of  fun,  with  grave  notes  by 
skillfully  f  way  of  ballast."—  Christian  Examiner. 
13 


The   humbugs  of  the    day  are 


PUBLISHED   BY  A.  HART. 
Now  ready,  in  1  vol.   post  8vo.,  price  $1  25,  with  Portraits, 

WASHINGTON  AND  THE  GENERALS 
THE  REVOLUTION, 

BY  VARIOUS  EMINENT  AUTHORS. 


01? 


CONTAINING 

Bto  graphical   Sketches  of  all   the  Jtlajor  and  Brigadier    General* 

who  acted  under  commissions  from  Congress  during* 

the  Revolutionary  War. 


WB  hail  these  beautiful  volumes  with 
ondisguised  delight.  They  supply,  in  a  dig- 
aified  and  comprehensive  form,  valuable 
information,  which  will  be  sought  with  avi 
dity,  not  only  by  the  American  public,  but 
by  the  world  at  large.  The  want  of  a  work 
of  positive  authority  on  this  subject  has  long 
been  felt  and  deplored.  The  enterprise  and 
good  taste  of  Messrs.  Carey  and  Hart  have 
given  us  two  handsome  and  reliable  vo 
lumes,  betraying  industry  and  talent,  and 
replete  with  facts  of  the  deepest  interest. 


There  is  no  idle  romancing — n< 

attempts  at  rhetorical  display;  on  the  coii- 


-no  school-boy 


trary,  the  work  is  written  in  a  clear,  un 
affected,  business-like,  yet  beautiful  man 
ner.  The  authors  had  the  good  sense  to 
think  that  the  stirring  events  of  "the  times 
that  tried  men's  souls,"  needed  no  embellish 
ment.  It  is  a  complete,  impartial,  and  well 
written  history  of  the  American  Revolu 
tion,  and,  at  the  same  time,  a  faithful  bio 
graphy  of  the  most  distinguished  actors  in 
tnat  great  strrggle,  whose  memories  are 
enshrined  in  our  hearts.  The  typographical 
execution  of  the  work  is  excellent,  and  the 
sixteen  portraits  on  steel  are  remarkably 
well  done.  The  first  volume  is  embel 
lished  with  a  life-like  portrait  of  Washing 
ton  mounted  on  his  charger,  from  Sally's 


picture,  "Quelling  the  Whisky  Riots.1' 
is,  we  believe,  the  first   engr 


ally's 
This 


from  it.  There  are  biographies  of  eighty- 
eight  Generals,  beginning  with  ''the  Father 
of  his  country,"  and  closing  with  General 
Maxwell.  To  accomplish  this  task,  we 
a/e  assured  that  "the  accessible  published 
and  unpublished  memoirs,  correspondence, 
and  other  materials  relating  to  the  period, 
have  been  carefully  examined  and  faith 
fully  reflected."  We  earnestly  commend 
this  work.  It  will  be  found  an  unerring 
record  of  the  most  interesting  portion  of 
)ur  history. — The  City  Item. 

This  work  differs  from  Mr.  Headley's, 
having  nearly  the  same  title,  in  many  im 
portant  particulars  ;  and  as  an  historical  book 
is  much  superior. — N.  Y.  Com.  Advertiser. 

Certainly  the  most  comprehensive  and 
individualized  work  that  has  ever  been 
published  on  the  subject — each  member  of 
the  great  dramatis  personce,  of  the  Revolu- 


name  of  any  author,  because  It  is  the  joini 
production  of  many  of  the  mosi  eminent 
writers  in  the  country,  resident  in  various 
states  in  the  Union,  and  haying,  from  the 
circumstance,  access  to  original  materials 
in  private  hands,  and  to  public  archives  not 
accessible  to  any  one  individual  without 
long  journey  and  much  consumption  of 
time.  The  result,  however,  is  a  complete 
and  authentic  work,  embracing  biographi 
cal  notices  of  every  one  of  the  Revolution 
ary  Generals.  The  amount  of  fresh  and  ori 
ginal  matter  thus  brought  together  in  these 
moderate-sized  volumes,  is  not  less  sur 
prising  than  it  is  gratifying  to  the  historical 
reader.  This  will  become  a  standard  book 
of  reference,  and  will  maintain  its  place  in 
libraries  long  after  the  present  generation 
shall  have  enjoyed  the  gratification  of  pe 
rusing  its  interesting  pages,  exhibiting  in  a 
lively  style  the  personal  adventures  and 
private  characters  of  the  sturdy  defenders 
of  American  Independence. — Scott's  Weekly 
Newspaper. 

The  author's  name  is  not  given,  and  from 
what  we  have  read,  we  presume  that  va 
rious  pens  have  been  employed  in  these  in 
teresting  biographies.  This  is  no  disadvan 
tage,  but,  on  the  contrary,  a  decided  benefit, 
for  it  insures  greater  accuracy  than  could  be 
looked  for  in  such  a  series  of  biographies 
written  by  one  person  in  a  few  months. 
The  volumes  are  published  in  a  very  hand 
some  style.  The  first  sixty  pages  are  oc 
cupied  with  the  biography  of  Washington, 
which  is  written  with  force  and  elegance, 
and  illustrated  by  an  original  view  of  the 
character  of  that  great  man.  *  *  *  The 
number  of  the  biographies  in  these  volumes 
is  much 
work, 
jects. — N.  Y.  Mirror. 

We  have  read  a  number  of  the  articles, 
find  them  to  be  written  with  ability,  and  to 
possess  a  deep  interest.  The  author  has 
manifested  excellent  judgment  in  avoiding 
all  ambitious  attempts  at  what  is  styled 
fine  writing  ;  but  gives  a  connected  recital 
of  the  important  events  in  the  lives  of  his 
heroes.  The  work  will  be  highly  interest 
ing  and  valuable  to  all  readers — particu- 

rly  so  to  youth,  who  are  a'ways  attracted 


greater  than  that  of  Mr.  Headley's 
There  are  eighty-eight  distinct  sub 


,  «       '.  .        .      ,  ,     ,       Jell  iy    :>u  lu   \uuui,  WilVCLlo   a.   vv  «y  o  dm  a.uicu 

tionarv  tragedy,  standing  out  in  bold  and  \  by  biographies.  If  a  father  wishes  to  pre- 
"sculptured"  relief,  on  his  own  glorious  sent  to  his  sons  nobie  instances  of  uncor- 
deeds.—  Saturday  Courier.  ]  rupte(1  „„,,  incorruptllj|e  patriotism,  let  him 

This  work  is  a  very  different  affair  from  >  place  this  work  in  their  hands.  It  s'.iouJd 
the  flashy  aad  superficial  book  of  the  Rev.  ^  have  a  place  in  every  American  library, 
I.  T.  Headley,  entitled  "Washington  and  >  and  is  among  the  most  valuable  books  of  >ht 


the   Generals." 


It  appears   without 
U 


the  I  season.  —  Baltimore  American 


NEW    BOOKS    PUBLISHED    BY  A.  HART. 
MORFIT'S    APPLIED    CHEMISTRY. 


A  TREATISE  UPON  CHEMISTRY, 

I*  ITS  APPLICATION  TO  THE  MANUFACTURE  OF 

SOAPS    AND   CANDLES. 

BKINO  A  THOROUGH  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  AND  PRACTICE  OF  THE  TRAM 
IN  ALL  THEIR  MINUTIAE,  BASED  UPON  THE  MOST  RECENT  DISCOVERIES  IN 


BY  CAMPBELL  MORFIT, 

PRACTICAL  AND  ANALYTICAL  CHEMIST. 

With  170   Engravings  on  Wood. 

This  work  is  based  upon  the  most  RKCKNT  DISCOVERIES  IN  SCIENCE  AND  IMPROVEMENT* 
IN  ART  and  presents  a  thorough  exposition  of  the  principles  and  practice  of  the  trade  in 
all  thoir  minutiJB.  The  experience  and  ability  of  the  author  have  enabled  him  to  produce 
A  MORK  COMPLETK  AND  COMPREHENSIVE  BOOK  upon  the  subject  than  any  eitant.  The  whole 
arrangement  is  designed  with  a  view  to  the  scientific  enlightenment,  as  well  as  the  in- 
Btrucion  of  the  manufacturer,  and  it?  contents  are  such  as  to  render  it  not  only  A  STAND- 
AHD  GIHPK  BOOK  TO  THE  OPTATIVE,  but  also  an  authoritative  work  of  reference  for  the 
CHEMIST  AND  THE  STUDENT. 

An  exnmination  of  the  annexed  table  of  contents  will  show  the  invaluable  usefulness 
of  the  work,  the  prncticiil  features  of  which  are  illustrated  by  upwards  of  ONE  HUNDRED 

AND  SIXTY   ENUKAVINRS  ON  WOOD. 

The  following  synopsis  embraces  only  the  main  heads  of  each  Chapter  and  Paragraph. 
CHAP.  1.  Introductory  Remarks.  >  Spermaceti,  Delphinine,  Neati 

"        2.   The  Dignity  of  the  Art  and  its  Re-  >  feet  Oil. 

lations  to  Science  }  CHAP.  17.   The  Constituents  of  Fats,    their 

Properties  and  Composition: 
Stearine,  Steanc  Acid  and 
Salts;  Margarine,  Margaric 
Acid  and  Salts;  Olein.  Oleic 
Acid  and  Salts;  Cetine.  Cetylic 
Acid  ;  Phocenine.  Phocenic 
Acid  and  Salts;  Butyrine,  Bu 
tyric  Acid  and  Salts;  Caproic, 
Capric  Acid;  Hircine,  iiircic 
Acid;  Cholestenne. 

18.  Basic    Constituents    of   Fats :  — 

Glycerin    Ethal. 

19.  Theory  of  Saponiftcation. 

20.  Utensils:—  Steam    Series.    Buga- 

diersor  Ley  Vats,  Soap  Frames, 
Caldrons,  <Scc. 

21.  The  Systemized  arrangement  for 

a  Soap  Factory. 

22.  Remarks.—  Preliminary    to     the 

Process  for  Making  Soap. 

23.  Hard     Soaps:—  "  Cutting     Pro 

cess;'1  Comparative  Value  of 
Oils  and  Fats  as  Soap  ingredi 
ent,  with  Tables  ;  White.  Mot- 
tied.  Marseilles.  Yellow.  Van- 


3.  Affinity   and    Chemical    Equiva 

lents  : — Explanation  of. 

4.  Alkalies.—  Lime,   Potassa,  Soda, 

Ammonia. 

5.  Alkalimetry. 

6  Acids. —  Carbonic.  Sulphuric.  Hy 
drochloric,  Nitric,  Boracic. 
Acidimetry. 

7.  Origin  and  Composition  of  Fatty 

Matters. 

8.  Saponiftable   Fau.—  Oils    of    Al 

mond.  Olive,  Mustard,  Beech, 
Poppy.  Rapeseed.  Grapeseed; 
Nut  Oil,  Linseed  Oil,  Castor 


12 


Oil,   Palm   Oil,  (processes   for 
bleaching    it;)     Coco     Butter, 
Nutmeg  Mutter,  Galum  Butter, 
Athamantine. 
9.  Adulteration  of  Oils. 

10.  Action  of  Acids  upon  Oils. 

11.  Volatile  Oils.— The   Properties  of, 

and  iheir    applicability  to   the 
Manufacture  of  Soaps. 
Volatile  Oils:— Their  Origin  and 
Composition;    Table    of   their 
Specific  Gravities. 
13    Essential  0<k:— The    Adultera 
tions  of,  and  the  modes  of  de- 
teci:ng  ihi'in. 

14.  Wax  : — Iis  Properties  and  Com 

position. 

15.  Resins :  —  Their    Properties   and 

Composition;    Colophony   and 
Gallipot. 

16.  Animal    Fats    and    Oils:—  Lard, 

Mutton  Suet.  Reef-tallow.  iV.  f- 
marrow.  I  .one- tat.  Soap-grease. 
Oii-U-r.s.  K  tclieri-sniff.  Hurnan- 
fut.  Adipocirp,  Butter,  Fish-oil, 
16 


kee  Soaps;  English  Yellow  and 
White  Sonp,  Coco  Soap.  Palm 
Soap,  Butler  Soap,  English 
Windsor  Soap,  French  Wind 
sor  Soap.  Analyses  of  Soaps. 
34.  Process  for  Making  Soap  :—  Pre 
paration  of  the  Leys.  Kmpa- 
tage.  Relargage,  Coction.  Mot 
tling.  Cooling. 

25.  Extemporaneous  Snaps:  —  Lard, 

Medicinal,     "  Hawes,"     ''Ma 
quer."  and  '•  DarcetV  Soaps 

26.  Silicntf.d    Soaps:—  Fl.nt,    Sand, 

"  Dunn's,"  •'  DaviaV1  Soaps. 


CHAP. 2?.  Pnfenf  Soaps. — Dextrine,  Salina-  \ 
ted  Soaps,  Soap  from  Hardened 
Fat. 

"      28,  Anderson's  Improvements. 

M  29.  Soft  Soaps: — Process  for  Making, 
Crown  Soaps,  "Savon  Vert." 

"  30.  The  Conversion  of  Soft  Soaps  into 
Hard  Soaps. 

*  31.  Frauds  in  Soap  Making  and 
Meant  for  their  Detection.. 

"  32.  Earthy  Soaps,  Marine  Soap,  Me 
tallic  Soaps.  Ammoniacal  Soap. 

«  33.  Soap  frr>m  Volatile  Oils:—  Star- 
ky's  Soap,  Action  of  Alkalies 
upon  Essential  Oils. 

"  34.  "Savons  Acides,"  or  Oleo-acidu- 
lated  Soap. 

11  35.  Toilet  Soaps:  —  Purification  of 
Soaps,  Admixed  Soap,  Cinna 
mon,  Rose,  Orange  -  flower, 
Bouquet,  Benzoin,  Cologne, 
Vanilla,  Musk,  Naples,  Kasan 
Soaps,  Flotant  Soaps,  Trans 
parent  Soaps  Soft  Soaps,  Sha 
ving  Cream;  Remarks. 

"  36.  Areometers  and  Thermometers : — 
their  use  and  value. 

"       37.    Weights  and  Measures. 

«      38.  Candles 

"       39.  Illumination. 

"      40.  Philosophy  of  Flame. 

"      41.  Raw    Material   for    Candles:  — 


Modes     of    Rendering    Fats, 
i(  Wilson's  Steam  Tanks. 
CHAP.  42.  Wicks:  —  Their  use  and  action- 

Cutting  Machines. 

14      43.  Of  th*  Manufacture  vf  Candles. 
44      44.  Dipped  Candles:  —  Improved  Ma 
chinery   for    facilitating   thoij 
Manufacture. 
"      45.  Material  of  Candles:  —  Process 

for  Improving  its  Quality. 
46.    Moulded     Candles:  —  Improved 
Machinery  for  facilitating  their 
Manufacture.— "Vaxerue,"  or 
Summer  Candles. 

;  47.  StearicAcid  Candles:—  Adamant 
ine  and  Star  Candles. 

1  43.  Stearin  Candles:  —  Brasonnot's 
and  Morfit's  Process. 

;      49    Sperm  Candles. 

1  50.  Palmine,  Palm  Wax,  Coco  Can 
dles. 

1  51.  Wax  Candles  .-—Mode  of  Bleach 
ing  the  Wax,  with  drawings  of 
the  apparatus  requisite  there 
for;  Bougies,  Cierges,  Flam 
beaux. 

1  52.  Patent  Candles  :  — '4  Azotized," 
Movable  Wick  and  Goddard's 
Candles;  Candles  on  Continu 
ous  Wick;  Water  and  Hour 
Bougies,  Perfumed  Candles. 
53.  Concluding  Remarks.  Vocabu 
lary. 


Terms.— The  book  is  handsomely  printed,  with  large  type,  and  on  good  thick  paper, 
in  an  octavo  volume  of  upwards  of  five  hundred  pages,  the  price  of  which  is  $5  per 
copy,  neatly  bound  in  cloth  g;lt,  or  it  will  be  forwaided  by  mail/ree  of  postage  in  flexible 
covers,  on  receiving  a  remittance  of  9»5.  (A  limited  number  only  printed.) 


Two  VOLUMES,  TWELVE  HUNDRED   PAGES,  EMBELLISHED  WITH   NUMEROUS 
ENGRAVINGS.     NEW  EDITION.     PRICE  $4,  CLOTH,  GILT. 

WATSON'S  ANNALS   OF  PHILADELPHIA  AND 
PENNSYLVANIA  IN  THE  OLDEN  TIME. 

BEING  A  COLLECTION  OF  MEMOIRS,  ANECDOTES,  AND  INCIDENTS  OF  THE  CITY 
AND  ITS  INHABITANTS. 

AXD  OF   THE 

Earliest  Settlements  of  the  Inland  part  of  Pennsylvania,  from  the  days  of  the 
Founders. 

INTENDED   TO   PRESERVE   THE   RECOLLECTIONS   OP   OLDEN   TIME,   AND   TO 

Exhibit  Society  in  its  Changes  of  Manners  and  Customs,  and  the  City  and  Country 
in  their  Local  Changes  and  Improvements. 

BY    JOHN    F.    WATSON, 

leinber  of  the  Historical  Society  of  Pennsylvania,  and  Honorary  Member  of  the  Historical 
Societies  of  New  York  and  Massachusetts. 


REVIEW  NOTICES. — "This  is  a  great  curi 
osity.  Such  a  book  has  never  before  been 
produced  in  the  United  States.  The  Annalist 
will  enjoy  a  peerless  fame — we  trust  his  work 
will  be  universally  bought  and  read."  '-No 
American  who  can  read  should  be  without  a 
copy  of  this  invaluable  contribution  to  our 
early  American  history."  ••  It  seems  to  con 
vey  us  back  to  other  times — wi:  see  tilings  as 
they  were — ininuttly  and  particularly,  and 
not  as  presented  in  stately  aud  buskiued 


history,  in  one  general  view — vague,  glim- 
ineriug,  indistinct."  "  This  is  in  truth  a  work 
without  example  for  its  imitation,  and  with 
equal  truth  it  is  in  execution  a  work  SMI 
generis."  "It  is  a  museum  that  will  never 
cease  to  attract.  It  deserves  the  gratitude 
of  the  country  and  the  patronage  of  the 
reading  community.  It  will  furnish  the 
historian,  the  biographer,  and  the  patriotic 
orator,  with  matter  to  adorn  and  beautify 
their  productions." 

17 


A.  HART'S  PRACTICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC  WORKS. 
THE 

AMERICAN  COTTON   SPINNER, 


MANAGERS'    AND    CARDERS'    GUIDE: 

A  PRACTICAL  TREATISE  ON  COTTON  SPINNING. 

Compiled  from  the  Papers   of  the  late  Rooert  H.  Baird. 
In  One  Volume,  Cloth  Gilt,  Price  $1. 

"This  is  a  practical  age,  and  it  demands.;  "'The  American  Cotton  Spinner  and  Mana- 
practical  books.  Of  this  class  is  the  manual  /  gers'  and  Carders'  Guide,'  a  practical  treatise 
before  us,  addressing  itself  to  a  rapidly  grow-  )  on  cotton-spinning,  giving  the  dimensions 
lug  interest  among  us,  and  one,  upon  the  /  and  speed  of  machinery,  draught  and  twist 
prosperity  of  which  depends,  in  a  gFt-at  mea  ^calculations,  Ac.,  with  notices  of  recent  im- 
sure,  the  destiny  of  the  South.  We  have  too  >  provements,  together  with  rules  and  ex- 
•  long  committed  the  fatal  error  of  allowing  ;!  am  pies  for  making  changes  in  the  size  of 
Northern  manufactories  toconvert  our  staple  <  roving  and  yarn.  This  work  is  compiled 
into  the  fabrics  we  require  for  use,  losing  by  <  from  papers  of  the  late  Robert  H.  Baird.  well 
the  process  all  the  expenses  of  a  double  trans-  <  known  as  an  expert  cotton-spinner,  and  will 
portation,  the  profits  of  manufacturing,  and  <  prove  of  great  service  to  cotton-growers,  mill- 
gundry  incidental  costs  of  interest  and  ex-  5  owners,  and  cotton-spinners.  This  book  will 
change.  With  the  increasing  attention  to  5  undoubtedly  meet  with  an  extensive  sale  in 
manufactures  in  the  South,  arises  the  need  the  South,  where  attention  is  beginning  to 
of  information  upon  all  their  appliances  and  be  turned  in  earnest  to  manufacturing  aa 
workings,  and  much  that  is  valuable  of  this 
nature  is  found  in  the  book  before  us.  Mr. 


Baird  was  an  expert  and  successful  cotton- 
spinner.  His  experience  and  observations 
are  here  afforded  to  his  fellow-operatives. 
combined  with  the  modern  improvements  in 
mechanics  and  methods.  No  intelligent  man 
at  the  present  day  builds  without  'counting 
the  cost,'  or  enters  upon  a  field  of  laliour 
without  a  comprehensive  knowledge  of  its 
capabilities  and  requirements.  To  those 
proposing  to  erect  small  factories,  or  now 
conducting  them,  the  treatise  before  us  could 
not  fail  to  be  of  service,  if  well  studied,  and 
to  such  we  commend  it." — Southern  Literary 
Gazette. 

"  Had  we  space  we  might  go  on  to  state  a 
number  of  other  equally  interesting  and  im 
portant  facts.  The  work  from  which  much 
of  the  foregoing  is  taken,  is  published  by  Mr. 
A.  Hart,  and  was  compiled  chiefly  from  the 
papers  of  the  late  Robert  H.  Baird,  well 
known  as  an  expert  cotton-spinner.  It  is 
gratifying  to  see  that  so  respectable  a  house 
as  that  of  Mr.  Hart  has  undertaken  the  pub 


-Draw  in  g-  roo  m, 


ring  p' 

by   Mr.   IJp.t. 


ell    as    growing    cotton.' 
Jonrnat. 

"This  is  one  of  the  most  interesting  and 
valuable  of  the  many  excellent  little  treaties 
on  mechanical  and  manufacturin 
which  have  been  published 
The  construction  and  working  of  a  coti 
factory  are  thoroughly  explained.  l'.u.,d- 
ings,  main  gearing,  water-wheels,  picking 
and  spreading  machines,  cards  and  carding, 
drawing-frames,  speeders,  throstles  and  mufe 
spinning,  are  elaborately  discussed,  and  to 
those  engaged  in  the  production  of  cotton 
goods,  the  volume  must  be  exceedingly  use 
ful.  To  political  economists  and  others,  who 
feel  an  interest  in  the  great  progress  of  our 
country,  the  historical  and  statistical  portions 
of  the  book  will  also  be  of  value. 

•:'In  1770,  there  were  exported  to  Liver 
pool  from  New  York  three  bags  of  cotton 
wool;  from  Virginia  and  Maryland,  four 
bags;  and  from  North  Carolina,  three  bar 
rels.  Last  year  England  paid  $71,9*4.t>U>  to 
the  United  States  for  raw  cotton,  which  sum 
is  exclusive  of  that  paid  to  other  cotton-grow 


Mcation  of  books  of  this  kind,  for  we  believe  'i  ing  nations.  In  1790  the  first  cotton-mill 
that  our  operatives  should  possess  a  theoreti-  '/  was  erected  in  Pawtu»Jtet,  Rhode  Island.  In 
eal  as  well  as  practical  knowledge  of  their  '/  18;>0  the  number  of  spindles  in  operation 
several  trades.  This  work  gives  the  dimen-  ^  was  computed  at  2.;'iO.O.OOO.'  These  facts  are 
sions  and  speed  of  machinery,  draught  and  ]  among  the  most  signal  evidences  of  the  un 
twist  calculations,  with  notices  of  the  most  ]  exampled  progress  and  prosperity  of  the 
recent  improvements.  It  musfcfjrove  an  in-  <  country,  and  cannot  be  considered  without 
valuable  hand-book  to  the  manufacturer." —  £  emotions  of  pride  and  gratification." — JV.  Y. 
Germantown  Tdfgrnph.  (  Commrrcittl  Advertiser. 

';  As  the  treatise  now  stands,  it  is  a  most  \  "  It  is  compiled  from  the  papers  of  the  late 
complete  and  practical  guide  in  the  spinning  {Robert  H.  Baird,  well  known  as  an  expert 
of  cotton.  It  gives  the  dimensions  and  speed  't  cotton-spinner,  and  forms  a  practical  treatise 
of  machinery,  draught  and  twist  calcula-  {  relative  to  spinning  in  all  its  departments 
tions;  together  with  rules  and  examples  for  <  and  relations,  the  dimensions  and  speed  of 
making  changes  in  the  size  and  number  of  J  machinery,  draught  and  twist  calculations, 

&c.  Ac.,  which  cannot  but  commend  itself  to 
the  favourable  attention   of  all    connected 


roving   yarn.    The  work   will  be  found   of 
value,  equally  by  operatives  and  mill-owners. 


It  is  issued  in  a  very  neat  style."  —  Arthur's 
Ifo/ne  Gazette. 


with   this    important  manufacturing    inte 


rest."  —  Noriti  American 


21 


A.  HART'S  PRACTICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC  WORKS. 


MANUFACTURE  OF  STEEL, 

Containing  the  Practice  and  Principles  of 

Working  and  Making  Steel. 
BY  FREDERICK  OVERMAN, 

MINING  ENGINEER. 

Author  of  "  Manufacture  of  Iron,"  «fcc. 

COMPLETE  IN  ONE  VOLUME. 

With  Engravings,  cloth  gilt.    Pi-ice  75  cents. 

"The  author  of  this  book  is  a  practical 
mining  engineer,  and  what  he  has  to  say  on 
the  subject  of  which  he  treats,  is  therefore 
entitled  to  consideration." — Com.  Advertiser. 

"  A  valuable  and  almost  indispensable 
hand  book  for  all  workers  in  steel  and  iron, 
euch  as  blacksmiths,  cutlers,  die  sinkers,  and 
manufacturers  of  various  kinds  of  hardware. 
The  man  of  science,  as  well  as  the  artisan, 
will  find  much  valuable  information  in  Mr. 
Overman's  Book." — Arthur's  Home  Gazttle. 

"Carefully  prepared,  and  therefore  well 
adapted  for  the  purpose.  It  is  illustrated  by 
figures  explanatory  of  apparatus  and  ma 
chinery." — North  American. 

"  A.  Hart,  Philadelphia,  has  published 
'The  Manufacture  of  Steel,'  by  Frederick 
Overman.  This  work  is  not  only  of  interest 
to  blacksmiths  and  workers  in  steel  and 
iron,  but  to  men  of  science  and  art.  It  is  a 
must  thorough  book,  commencing  with  forg- 
iiig,  nnd  treating  the  subject  throughout  in 
an  able  manner." — Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

THE 

MOULDER'S  AND  FOUNDER'S 
POCKET  GUIDE, 

By  Frederick  Overman, 

MINING   ENGINEER. 

WITH  FORTY-TWO  WOOD  ENGR  WINGS. 
12mo,  252  pages,  cloth  gilt.     Price  88  cents. 

"The  moulding  of  iron  for  useful  purposes 
is  one  of  the  most  extensive  pursuits  of  so 
ciety.  Nevertheless,  there  are  comparatively 
few  works  which  present  a  clear,  intelligible, 
and  simple  statement  of  the  branches  of  this 
art,  so  as  to  be  readily  understood  by  all. 
The  present  work  seems  to  supply  this  de 
ficiency." — Scientific  American. 

"  This  volume  is  p^pared  on  the  same 
plan  as  that  on  Cotton~Spinning,  and  has  a 
number  of  wood-engravings.  It  must  prove 
invaluable  to  the  iron-master.  It  is  certainly 
a  book  that  has  long  been  needed,  and  we 
know  that  it  will  be  extensively  circulated." 
— Germantown  Telegraph. 

"The  'Moulder's  and  Founder's  Pocket 
Guide,'  published  by  A.  Hart,  is  a  treatise  on 
moulding  and  founding  in  green  sand,  dry 
Band,  loam,  and  cement,  the  moulding  of  ma 
chine-frames,  mill-gear,  hollow-ware,  orna 
ments,  trinkets,  bells,  and  statues,  with  re 
ceipts  for  alloys,  varnishes,  colours,  &c ,  by 
Frederick  Overman,  mining  engineer.  The 
work  is  illustrated  with  forty -two  wood-cuts, 
and  it  gives  plain  and  practical  descriptions 
of  these  most  useful  arts." — Public  Ledger. 


THE 

LONDON  YEAR-BOOK  OF  FACTS 

AND 

SCIENCE,  FOE,  1851. 

BY  JOHN  TIMES. 

Complete  in  one  volume.  326  pages,  cloth  gilt. 
PRICE   $1. 

The  Year-Book  of  Facts  in  Science  and 
Art,  exhibiting  the  most  important  dis 
coveries  and  improvements  of  the  past  year, 
in  mechanics  and  the  useful  arts,  natural 
philosophy,  electricity,  chemistry,  zoology, 
and  botany,  geology  and  geography,  meteor 
ology  and  astronomy.  By  John  Timbs, 
editor  of  the  '  Arcana  of  Science  and  Art,'  in 
one  neat  volume;  price  $1. 

'•  It  contains  a  mine  of  information  in  mat 
ters  of  Science  and  Art."— Saturday  Gazette. 
"There  is  a  great  deal  of  well-digested  in 
formation  in  this  volume,  exhibiting  the 
most  important  discoveries  in  the  Sciences 
and  Arts,  during  the  past  year.  In  looking 
over  it,  one  is  surprised  at  the  progress  mak 
ing  in  these  branches,  and  in  order  to  keep 
up  with  the  age,  such  a  book  as  this  is  abso 
lutely  necessary." — Evening  Bulletin. 

"  Such  a  volume  commends  itself  suffi 
ciently  to  public  favour  by  its  title.  The 
importance  of  possessing  it  is  apparent  at  a 
glance,  since  the  knowledge  of  a  single  one 
of  these  facts,  or  new  discoveries  in  science 
and  the  useful  arts,  may  very  possibly  be 
worth  in  cash  to  the  buyer  ten  times  the 
price  of  the  book."— Scott's  Weekly. 

"  The  '  tear-Book  of  Facts'  is  another  of 
Mr.  Hart's  excellent  publications.  It  is  a 
reprint  from  the  London  edition,  and  ex 
hibits  flie  most  important  discoveries  and 
improvements  of  the  year  1851,  in  artn, 
sciences,  and  mechanics.  It  is  just  the 
volume  to  have  handy  to  take  up  when  a 
few  sj  are  moments  present  themselves, 
which  might  otherwise  be  unimproved."— 
Boston  Evening  Gazette. 

"The  'Year-Book  of  Facts'  is  a  work  of 
establijhed  character,  and  American  readers 
will  feel  indebted  to  Mr.  Hart  for  reproduc 
ing  it  in  a  convenient  and  handsome  form, 
rendering  it  accessible,  to  all  purchasers  on 
this  side  of  the  water.  — -Y.  American. 

STUART'S 

Dictionary  of  Architecture. 

A  Directory  of  Architecture,  Historical,  De 
scriptive,   1f:pr,graphical,  Dccoratice,   Tfro- 
retical,   and    Mechanical,    alphabeFcatly 
arranged,   familiarly   explained,   and 
adapted    to   the    comprehension    of 
workmen, 

BY    ROBERT   STUART, 

ARCHITECT   AND   CIVIL  ENGINEER. 

Illustrated  by  one  thousand  Drnwlnsfs  ol 

Subjects  referred  to  in  the  work. 

Complete  in  3  volumes  8vo.,  bound  in  two. 
"  A  most  excellent  work  for  practical  men.* 


A.  HART'S  PRACTICAL  AND  SCIENTIFIC  WORKS. 


MISS    LESLIE'S 

LADY'S  XEW  RECEIPT  BOOK, 

A  USEFUL  GUIDE  FOR  LARGE  OR  SMALL 
FAMILIES. 

2few  Edition,  Enlarged.     1  Vol.  12mo.,  400 
pages. 

PRICE    $1. 


KOS3EMAST3HIP. 

A  Method  of  Horsemanship,  founded  upon  new 

Prhi'-iples :  including  the  Breaking  and 

Training  of  Horf.es,  with  instructions 

for  obtaining  a  good  Seat. 


1         ILLUSTRATED  WITH  ENGRAVINGS, 
BY  F.  BAUCHER, 

<  TRANSLATED   FROM    THE    NINTH   P\RI8   EDITION'. 
Cloth  Gilt.    Price  *1.25. 


"Miss 'Leslie's  ' Complete  Cookery'  is  per-  J  "Here  is  something  which  looks  like  a 
baps  better  known  than  any  similar  police- 5  tjttem  of  horsemanship.  We  have  often  la- 
tion  of  receipts.  The  very  elegant  volume  >  nwnted  °ver  the  wrongs  done  to  horses,  and 
before  us  is  designed  as  a  sequel  to  it,  and  \  wondered  if  there  were  no  better  means  of 
should  be  its  companion  in  every  family.  It  conveying  our  wishes  to  the  animals  than 
contains  directions  for  cooking,  preserving,  bv  Brutally  belabouring  them  with  a  whip, 
pickling;  and  commencing  with  soups,  gives  Handler's  method  has  one  great  merit;  it  is 
new  receipts  for  every  course  of  an  excellent  \  humane.  His  instructions  ar^  conveyed  by 
dinner,  to  the  jellies  and  confectionary  of  the  <  a  •*eries  of  gentle  checks  and  impulses,  which 
dessert.  Besides  this,  there  are  directions  \  8O  far  from  tiring  the  horse,  only  tend  to 
for  perfumery,  miscellaneous  receipts,  etc.,  bring  out  his  latent  powers  and  better  in- 
and  the  celebrated  'Indian  Meal  Book,'  >  stincts,  through  an  intelligent  course  of  ex- 
which  embraces  every  method  in  which  that  '<  ******  Baucher's  method  has  proved  highly 
most  valuable  staple  can  be  prepared.  Our  5  SU(1cessful  in  France,  not  only  with  the  trick- 
readers  are  no  strangers  to  the  accuracy  and  }  uorsps  of  the  ring  and  the  gentleman's  hack- 
minuteness  of  Miss  Leslie's  receipts,  as,  since  \  ney>  but  with  tlle  cavalry  of  the  army.  It 
the  first  number  of  the  Gazette,  she  has  con-  \  has  also  been.  extensively  adopted  in  the 
tributed  to  our  housekeepers'  department,  ^'u^ian  service;  and  Baucher  received  a 


This  is  the  more  noticeable,  that  she  has  no 
other  similar  engagement  with  any  family 
paper.  The  new  receipts  in  this  volume  are 
admirable.  Many  of  them  are  modified  from 
French  sources,  though  foreign  terms  and 
designations  are  avoided.  The  publisher  has 
brought  it  out  in  an  extremely  tasteful 


diamond  snuff-box,  and  other  marks  of 
favour,  from  the  King  of  Prussia,  together 
with  many  commendatory  letters  from  the 
officers  of  his  army.  We  understand,  from 
the  translator's  preface,  that  all  the  astonish 
ment  which  we  bestowed  on  Gen.  Welch's 
horse  'May-fly,'  Madame  Loyo  and  her  stud, 
was  due  to  the  instructions  of  Baiicher.  No 
further  proofs  are  needed  of  the  practical 
•,  workings  of  a  system  which  can  perform 
{  such  wonders  with  horses.  The  present 


tyle."  —  Saturday  Gazette. 

"Mr.  A.  Hart.  Fourth  and  Chestnut  sts 
has  just  published  a  new  edition  of  Mis 
Leslie's  Receipt  Book  for  Cooking.  This  is  i_ 

truly  popular  work.  Thousands  of  copies  translation  is  finely  gotten  up,  and  contains 
have  already  been  disposed  of,  and  6ther  m{my  neat  illustrative  engravings.  The 
thousands  will  be  needed.  It  contains  direc-  translator's  part  appears  to  be  well  and 
tions  for  cooking,  preserving,  pickling,  and  carefully  done,  while  its  value  is  increased 
preparing  almost  every  description  of  dish  ;  '  by  a  number  of  original  notes,  explaining  the 
also  one  hundred  and  twenty  recipes  for  pre-  '  technical  meaning  of  the  French  stable-terms. 
paring  farina,  Indian  meal,  fancy  tea-cakes,  |  A  book  on  a  subject  so  interesting  to  eques- 

Brians  cannot  fail  to  be  popular."  —  Inquirer. 
"This  work  is  certainly  calculated  to  pro 
duce  a  sensation  among  those  '  whose  talk  is 
of  horses.'  It  is  singular  that  the  present 
should  be  the  first  English  translation  of  a 
w°rk  which  has  passed  through  nine  editions 
in  1'aris,  has  been  reprinted  again  and  again 
|  in  Belgium,  and  has  been  translated  into 
both  Dutch  and  German.  Of  the  great  value 
of  Baucher's  system  no  one,  who  has  given  it 
attention,  can  have  a  reasonable  doubt.  Its 
great  merit  is  that  it  can  properly  be  called 
a  system  based  upon  admitted  principles— 
nota  collection  of  unphilosophical  rules— 


, 

marmaladcs,  &c.     We  know  of  no  more  use 
ful  work  for  families."—  Inquirer. 


,  Structure,  &  Statistics 
of  Plank  Roads 

IX  THE 

UNITED  STATES  AND  CANADA. 
BY  W,  KINGSFORD, 


Oitn'Z  Engineer  on  the  Hudson  Hirer  Railroad. 

With  remarks  on  Roads  in  General,  by  F. 

G.  Sl:inner ;  and  a  Letter  on  Plank 

Roads,  by  Hon.  Chas.  E.  Clarke. 

Price  50  Cent*. 

"Those  who  desire  information  upon  the 
eubject  so  fully  treated  of  in  this  pamphlet, 
could  r>ot  do  better  than  purchase  and  read 
it"— Saturday  Post. 


it  is  capable  of  the  most  extended 
development.  Even  Baucher,  a  man  of  no 
common  vanity,  confesses  that  by  pursuing 
his  method,  the  horse's  education  may  be 
carried  fnr  beyond  any  result  which  he  has 
yet  obtained.  Further  developments  would 
indeed  be  profitable  to  the  circus,  and  curi 
ous  to  the  naturalist,  as  proving  the  extent 
of  the  animal's  sagacity,  under  a  proper  plan 
of  instruction."  —  Bulletin. 


A.  HART'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 


Anne  Boleyn ;  A  Tragedy, 

BY  GEORGE  H.  BOKER, 
Autltor  of  Calaynos,  da. 

COMPLETE  IX  0\E   VOL.   12MO.,   SCARLET    CLOTH. 
PRICE  75  CENTS. 

"  On  a  former  occasion  we  spoke  in  high 
terms  of  the  tragedy  of  Cabiynos,  and  our 
judgment  has  been  affirmed  by  some  of  the 
ablest  critics  of  England  and  America.  In 
the  former  country,  it  was  put  upon  the 
stage  and  met  with  distinguished  approval. 
This  is  a  compliment  of  which  the  young 
author  has  just  cause  to  feel  proud.  But 
the  tragedy  of  Calaynos,  though  ably  writ 
ten,  and  abounding  with  passages  of  thrill 
ing  interest,  will  never  enjoy  the  measure 
of  popularity  to  which  'Anne  Boleyn'  is 
destined."— City  Itf.m. 

"The  tragedy  of  •  Anne  Boleyn'  is.  in  very 
essence,  a  stage  play — full  of  incident  and 
replete  with  brilliant  dialogue.  The  indi 
viduality  of  character,  throughout,  is  admi 
rably  sustained.  From  the  very  first  scene, 
which  introduces  Norfolk  on  the  stage,  we 
''jecome  interested  in  the  plot,  and  so  con 
tinue  to  the  sad  denouement  of  this  tragic 
history.  Henry  VIII..  though  somewhat  in 
a  new  dress,  is  in  perfect  relevance  with 
history.  Thomas  Wyatt  is  beautifully  mi- 
bodied  in  Mr.  Boker's  just  and  fine  appreci-  worthy  of  perusal;  and  as  the  production  of 
ation  of  this  celebrated  gentleman  and  poet,  a  native  author,  will  exalt  our  national  lite- 
Queen  Anne  is  the  principal  character,  and  rature.  As  we  peruse  it  again,  with  mora 
skilfully  drawn.  The  exquisite  tenderness  ?  care,  we  may  present  extracts;  but  in  the 
of  her  language  and  the  dignity  of  her  grief  \  mean  time,  we  advise  our  readers  to  possess 
touch  us  with  that  probe  which  reaches  /  themselves  with  the  book,  and  regale  their 


successor  of  the  late  firm  of  Carey  &  II art."— 
&. (unlay  Gazette. 

'•'Anne  Boleyn'  is  better  than  'Calaynos,' 
toth  positively  and  relatively:  positively,  be 
cause  it  is  of  a  bolder  and  wider  range,  and 
evinces  more  artistic  skill;  relatively,  be- 
'  cause  notwithstanding  it  is  subsequent  to 
'Calaynos,'  and  therefore  was  expected  to 
surpass  it,  its  excellence  is  even  greater  than 
this  circumstance  required.  In  the  past  year, 
Mr.  Boker's  mind  has  made  a  vast  stride.  He 
has  gained  confidence  in  himself;  his  range 
of  thought  has  widened  and  deepened  :  and 
he  has  acquired  alike  greater  dramatic 
strength  and  a  finer  perception  of  the  poeti 
cal.  The  present  tragtdy  is  founded  on  the 
melancholy  story  of  Anne  Boleyu.  the  second 
wife  of  Henry  the.  Eighth.  The  principal 
characters  are  the  King,  the  Duke  of  Nor 
folk,  the  Queen,  her  rival  Jane  Seymour, 
Wyatt  the  poet,  Wyatt's  sister,  Lord  lloch- 
ford,  and  Mark  Smeaton :  and  the  action  of 
the  play  embraces  the  interval  between  the 
commencement  of  the  King's  passion  for 
Jane  Seymour,  and  the  execution  of  Anno 
Boleyn. "  In  depicting  the  characters,  as  well 
as  in  narrating  the  incidents  of  his  drama, 
Mr.  Boker  has  adhered  mainly  to  history; 
and  in  this  displayed  his  good  sense;  for  the 
closing  career  of  Anne  Boleyn  is  a  drama  in 
real  life.  Henry  the  Eighth,  Jane  Seymour, 
Norfolk,  and  Wyatt  are  drawn  with  equal 
truth  and  power." — Evening  Bulletin. 

"  We  would  make  extracts  from  this  work, 
did  our  limits  permit.     It  is  one  eminently 


the  heart  through  the  admiration.  We  were 
struck  with  the  great  force  and  personifica 
tion  of  her  character,  and  secretly  indulged 
the  hope  that  the  time  might  come  when  we 
should  see  it  enacted  by  the  peerless  repre 
sentative  of  Shakspeare's  heroines — MRS. 
FRANCES  ANNE  KESIBLE." — 
Journal. 

"But  we  might  run  on  so  all  day.  and 
must  leave  the  book,  with  its  intrinsic  beau 
ties,  its  clean  print  and  fine  paper,  at  once, 
and  without  fault-finding — unless  it  be,  with 
its  red,  instead  of  neutral-tinted  covers — 
after  congratulating  the  author,  not  on  the 
laurels  it  is  sure  to  win  him,  but  on  the  joy 
and  enlargement  he  must  have  received  in 
its  creation,  and  on  the  reaction  upon  his 
own  mind  of  its  healthful  influences  on 
the  minds  of  others." — Newark  Daily  Ad 
vertiser. 

"  We  must  commend  these  passages,  with 
the  rest  of  the  play,  to  the  good  taste  o^he 
reader,  and  hasten  to  an  award  of  praise, 
which  we  unhesitatingly  pronounce  upon 
the  poet  and  his  work.  We  are  sure  he  has 
not,  as  yet,  mined  his  richest  ore.  and  that 
the  future  will  verify  this  assertion. 

" '  Anne  Boleyu'  is  printed  in  luxurious 
type  upon  exquisite  paper,  and  is  prettily 
%ad  tastefully  bound ;  so  that  altogether  it 
reflects  high  credit  upon  the  publisher,  the 


tastes  by  au  entire  perusal  of  its  contents." — 
Ptnnsytvanian. 


THE  NEW  TIMON. 

A   ROMANCE   OF    LONDON, 

BY  SIR  E.   BULWER  LYTTON, 
Author  of  "  PeUtam,  Rienzi,''  cfc. 

"In  originality  of  conception,  terseness, 
vigour,  and  melodiousness  of  diction,  novelty 
of  imagery,  keenness  of  satire,  and  puri-ty 
and  elevation  of  sentiment,  this  work  will 
bear  comparison  with  the  best  poems  in  the 
English  language.  We  hazard  the  opinion 
that  posterity  will  place  it  by  the  side  of  the 
best  of  Byron's  poetic  tales.  The  author's 
skill  in  the  analysis  of  character  is  well 
exhibited  in  his  sketches  of  the  Duke  of 
Wellington,  Sir  Robert  1'eel,  O'Counell,  and 
others.  His  descriptive  powers  find  expres 
sion  in  some  exquisite  passages.  The  popu 
larity  of  the  work,  both  here  and  in  England, 
may  be  inferred  from  the  fact  that  this  is  the 
third  American  from  the  fourth  London,  edi 
tion." —  Weekly  Gazette. 


A.  HART'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 


OTHER  MISCELLANEOUS  POEMS. 
BY  GEO.  II.  BOKER, 

Author  of  "Calayiios,"    "Anne  Bo- 
leyn,"  "The  Betrothal,"  &c. 

ONE   VOL.   18MO.,   CLOTH   GILT. 

FRIGE  62  CENTS. 
clt  always  gives  us  pleasure  to  welcome 


THE 

[Jftratnj  nf  tjjB 

BY  HENRY  JAMES  SLACK,  F.  G.  S, 

(Of  the  Middle  Temple.) 

ELEGANTLY    PRINTED.      COMPLETE    IN    ONE  VOL. 
CLOTH   GILT. 

PRICE  62  CENTS. 

"This  little  book  is  full  of  rich  and  beauti 
ful  thoughts,  and  that  it  may  speak  for  it 
self,  we  extract  the  tenth  conversation.  Its 
teaching  reminds  us  of  '  Charming,  on  Self- 
culture,'  in  which  he  enforces  the  love  of  the 
beautiful,  as  a  source  of  happiness  spread  by 


a  new  volume  of  poems,  by  this  author,  to  >  Diviae  beneficence  on  every  side,  and  within 
our  table.  He  is  one  of  the  few  Americans  the  reach  of  all .  a  capacity  of  which  all  pos- 
who  write  with  care.  He  is,  moreover,  ajaeS8t  and  which  ig  8USCeptibJe  of  indefinite 


townsman.  And,  withal,  he  possesses  the 
poetic  faculty  in  a  very  high  degree,  and  is 
destined  to  go  down  to  future  times  crowned 
with  '  immortal  ba3"s.'  Indeed,  in  many  re- 
Bpects,  Mr.  Boker  has  no  living  rival. 

'•  The  principal  poem  in  the  volume  before 
us  is  -The  I'odesta's  Daughter,'  a  dramatic 
sketch  of  rare  merit.  In  compositions  of  .this 
eharactevr,  Mr.  lioker  excels;  but  he  never 
published  any  thing  superior,  or,  in  some 
particulars,  even  equal  to  this.  The  story  is 
that  of  two  lovers,  who.  from  being  children 


expansion.  '  Geology  is  the  most  imaginative 
of  sciences,'  says  Hugh  Miller,  and  this  work 
is  full  of  proof  of  the  power  of  geological  re 
velations  to  elevate  our  conceptions  of  the 
grandeur  and  vastness  of  creative  power, 
wisdom,  and  goodness." — National  Intelli 
gencer. 

"This  little  work  is  full  of  poetry— but 
poetry  that  every  mind  experiences,  and  by 
which  every  mind  is  influenced.  It  trans 
lates  the  voice  of  nature,  it  makes  clear 
those  dictates  which  come  from  our  hearts, 


.   i  , 

toother,    become    finally    passionately    at-  j  where  JUjg  burie(i  oftentiines  the  master-key 
tached      But  while  the  youth  IB  heir  to  a    of  knowlcd  ^  aud  inculcates  a  love  of  the 
haughty  lineage,  the  maiden  is  the  humb.e    beautiful."— .ftwfem  Evening  Gazette. 
daughter  ot  the  podesta,  a  disparity  of  rank 
that  affords  the  author  material  out  of  which 
to  weave  his  touching  tragedy.     The  delicate 
skill  with  which  the  two  princi|  ai  characters 
are  contrasted,  is  worthy  of  all  praise. 

"We  take  leave  of  this  volume  with  regret.  1  ARABI  AN   NIGHTS' ENTERTAINMENTS, 
Its  elevated  tone,  its  delicacy  of  thought,  its 
chastened  style,  the  fire  of  some  passages,  the 
eweetness  of  others,  and  last,  but  not  least. 
the  lofty  ideal  of  womanhood  which  prevails 


throughout,  whether  in  the  dramatic  or  lyric 
parts,  have  sweetened,  for  a  brief  space,  the 
exacting  toil  aud  dry  details  of  a  journalist's 
life. 

"  The  volume  is  very  neatly  issued,  and 
does  credit  to  Mr.  Hart,  the  publisher." — 
Evening  Bulletin. 


CLARA: 

OR, 

jjB  BiHtipiiitB  nf  Slfflictintr, 

Translated  from  ihf.  French  of  Madame 
Guizot. 

CLOTH  GILT.  PRICE  50  CTS. 
"If  this  work  for  youth  has  not  a  brilliant 
title,  it  can  claim  to  be  written  by  a  brilliant 
woman — a  woman  of  fine  sensibilities  and 
motherly  sympathies,  whose  judgment  is  as 
capable  of  guiding  as  her  charms  are  capable 
of  attracting.  Amidst  the  rest  of  Hart's  pub 
lications,  this  may  be  compared  to  a  shadowy 
leaf  in  a  brilliant  chaplet  of  the  rarest 
flowers." — City  Item. 


TALES  FROM  THE 


As  related  by  a  Mother  for  the  amusement 
of  her  Children. 


WITH   FORTY    ENGRAVINGS    BY    BUTLER,    FRO* 
DESIGNS   BY  J.   GILBERT. 

CLOTH  GILT.  PRICE  50  CENTS. 
"  Let  every  parent  buy  this  little  volume. 
The  pomp  and  glory  of  these  wonderful 
stories,  which  could  even  beguile  the  imagi 
native  mind  of  the  radiant  East,  were  never 
so  beautifully  unfolded  to  the  view  of  chil 
dren.  We  can  fairly  envy  the  delight  of  the 
child  presented  with  the  above  beautiful 
edition,  which  is  a  capital  specimen  of  the 
taste  and  liberafcty  of  the  publishers."— City 
Item. 


ROBIN    HOOD 

AND   HIS 

MtRRY  FORESTERS. 

BY  STEPHEN  PERCY. 

Eight  Plates,  Cloth  gilt. 

"Here  is  another  book  for  the  juveniles, 
that  needs  no  puffing.  All  the  children  old 
enough  to  read  such  a  book,  will  want  this 
beautiful  little  volume." — Southern  Literary 


A.  HART'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 

TJiis  day  is  published,  in  one  vol.  273  pages,  the    Recently  published  in  one  vol.  276  page* 
Third  Edition,  price  50  cents,  of  Fifth  Edition,  price  50  cents,  of 


A; 


OR, 


THE   SFOW-BISD. 

A  TALE  OF  REAL  LIFE. 
BY  CAROLINE   LEE   HENTZ. 

"An  unusually  clever  tale,  that  by  its 
Bprightliness.  its  clear  delineations  of  cha 
racter,  and  its  vigorous  and  sparkling  style, 
•will  afford  entertainment  to  every  class  of 
readers."— Book  Trade. 

"  The  '  Snow-Bird'  elicits  a  thrill  of  deep 
and  exquisite  pleasure,  even  exceeding  that 
•which  accompanied  'Linda,'  which  was  ge 
nerally  admitted  to  be  the  best  story  ever 
written  for  a  newspaper.  That  was  certainly 
high  praise,  but  '  Rena'  takes  precedence 
even  of  its  predecessor,  and,  in  both,  Mrs. 
Lee  Hentz  has  achieved  a  triumph  of  no 
ordinary  kind.  .It  is  not  that  old  associa 
tions  bias  our  judgment,  for  though  from 
the  appearance,  years  since,  of  the  famous 
'  Mob  Cap,'  in  this  paper,  we  formed  an  ex 
alted  opinion  of  the  womanly  and  literary 
excellence  of  the  writer,  our  feelings  have, 
in  the  interim,  had  quite  sufficient  leisure  to 
cool;  yet  after  the  lapse  of  years,  we  havf 
continued  to  maintain  the  same  literary  de 
votion  to  this  best  of  our  female  writers. 
The  two  last  productions  of  Mrs.  Lee  Heutz 
now  fully  confirm  our  previously  formed 
opinion,  and  we  unhesitatingly  commend 
'Rena,'  now  published  in  book  form  by  A. 
Hart,  Chestnut  and  Fourth  streets,  as  a 
etory  which,  in  its  varied,  deep,  and  thrill- 
Ing  interest,  has  no  superior." — Am.  Courier. 


L1HDA; 


OR,  THE 

YOUNG  PILOT  OF  THE  BELLE  CREO'.E 

A  TALE  OF  SOUTHERN  LIFE. 
By  Mrs.  CAROLINE  LEE  HENTZ. 

"Mrs.  Ilentz  has  given  us  here  a  very  de 
lightful  romance,  illustrative  of  life  in  the 
South-west,  on  a  Mississippi  plantation. 
There  is  a  well-wrought  love-plot;  the  cha 
racters  are  well  drawn,  the  incidents  are 
striking  and  novel,  the  denouement  happy, 
and  moral  excellent.  Mrs.  Ilentz  may  twine 
new  laurels  above  her  '  Mob  Cap.'  " — Evening 
Bulletin. 

"  We  hail  with  pleasure  this  contribution 
to  the  literature  of  the  South.  Works  con 
taining  faithful  delineations  of  Southern  life, 
society,  and  scenery,  whether  in  the  garb  of 
romance  or  in  the  soberer  attire  of  simple 
narrative,  cannot  fail  to  have  a  salutary  in 
fluence  in  correcting  the  false  impressions 
which  prevail  in  regard  to  our  people  and 
institutions;  and  our  thanks  are  due  to  Mrs. 
Ilentz  for  the  addition  she  has  made  to  this 
department  of  our  native  literature.  We 
cannot  close  without  expressing  a  hope  that 
'  Linda'  may  be  followed  by  many  other 
works  of  the  same  class  from  the  pen  of  its 
gifted  author." — bout/tern  Literary  G<izdt,t. 

"Remarkable  for  the  deep  interest  of  the 
plot  and  touching  beauty  of  its  well-told  in 
cidents;  some  of  our  rewspaper  editors,  in 
deed,  pronounce  it  'the  lent  story  ever  pub 
lished  in  a  newspaper.'  This  is  certainly 
high  praise,  and  from  our  knowledge  of  Mrs 


Complete  in  One  Volume.    Price  50  cents, 

NELL  GWYME; 

OR,  THE 

COURT  OF  THE  STUARTS 

UNDER   THE  REIGNS   OF   CHARLES   II.   AND 
JAMES   II. 

AN  HISTORICAL  ROMANCE. 
"The  period  during  the  apigns  of  Charles 
IT.  and  James  II.  is  one  of  the  most  interest 
ing  in  English  history.  Nell  Gwynne,  first 
a  poor  actress,  and  again  as  the  king's  mis 
tress,  and  possessing  more  tha-n  a  queen's 
influence,  is  thfc  prominent  character.  The 
various  characters  are  well  drawn,  and  the 
construction  of  the  tale  is  thoroughly  art 
istic.  The  scenes  shift  continually,  and  the 
interest  of  the  reader  is  well  sustained  to  the 
vlose." — Evening  Bulletin. 

"This  is  an  historical  romance  of  a  bril 
liant  period  of  English  annals,  and  its  author 
has  caught  the  spirit  of  the  times,  and  worked 
up  his  materials  with  no  commou  degree  of 
Skill.  The  book  will  be  found  exceedingly 
interesting." — Sout/tern  Literary  Gazette. 

26 


ngn  pn 
je<i    He 


ntz's    ability,   as    an.    accomplished 
writer,  we  have  no  doubt  the  praise  is  well 
erited." — American  Cuurier. 


Complete  in  One  Volume.    Price  50  cents. 

THE    SEA-KI  NG. 

A  NAUTICAL  ROMANCE. 

By  the  Author  of  "The  Scourge  of  th« 
Ocean." 

"It  will  prove  deeply  interesting  to  those 
fond  of  maritime  stories,  and  abounds  in  re 
lations  of  daring  deeds  and  gallant  adven 
tures." — Baltimore  American. 

"  This  is  a  brilliant  story  of  the  sea,  by  the 
author  of  that  very  popular  work,  'The 
Scourge  of  the  Ocean.'  who  did  not  live, 
however,  to  complete  the  present  one.  This 
task  was  performed  for  the  publisher  by  the 
same  able  hand  that  completed  '  Valerie,' 
the  work  left  unfinished  by  Capt.  Marryatt. 
The  reader  will  find  'The  Sea-King'  a  most 
deeply  interesting  and  absorbing  story, 
abounding  with  incident  and  character,  and 
exhibiting  much  dramatic  power." — SouUiern 
Literary  Gazette. 


A.  HART'S  BIOGRAPHICAL  WORKS. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

Life  of  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots, 

With  Anecdotes  of  tlie  Court  of  Henry  II., 
during  her  residence  in  France. 

BY  MISS  BENGER, 
Author  of  Memoirs  of  "Anne  Boleyn,"  «fcc. 

FROM  THE  SECOND  LONDON  EDITION. 

Two  Volumes,  cloth,  extra  gilt,  price  §2. 

"  From  very  flattering  reviews  of  this  work, 
that  Lave  appeared  in  English  publications, 
and  a  perusal  of  the  eventful  life  of  Anne 
Boleyn.  we  had  anticipated  a  very  agreeable 
treat,  and  our  expectations  have  been  more 
than  realise.  'd.    Miss  Benger  has  a  most  happy 
faculty  of  condensing  historical  information, 
and  while  occupied  in  portraying  the  events 
of  .Mary's  career,  gives  the  reader  a  bird's-eye 
glance  sit  those  institutions  and~laws  which 
contributed,  while  a  resident  in  France,  to 
the  formation  of  her  character,  and  at  the 
earns  time  introduces  on  the  stage  the  promi 
nent  actor.*,  whose  influence  or  example  may 
have    had  an   influence  over  her.     Her  de 
scription  of  the  Court  of  Henry  II.  cannot 
fail  to  interest  the  reader,  for  she  descends 
at  times  to  details,  which  possess  all  the  at 
tractions  of  romance,  but  which  are  strictly 
historical.     An   objection   may  be  urged   to  j 
her   copious    n  tcs,    many   of  which    might  ! 
have  been  incorporated  in  the  text,  without  j 
injury,  but  her  desire  probably  to  authenti-  > 
cate  e\ery  fact  of  any  importance,  has  been  ; 
the  cause  of  this,  and  by  the  critical  reader  ' 
wili  be  deemed  as  essential.     No  lengthy  re 
view  of  this  work  is  necessary  to  insure'  it  a 
perusal  from  our  readers,  for  no  reader  of 
history  cau  tail  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  the 
unfortunate  Mary;  and  our  friends,  who  are  £ 
preparing    •\ohunes  for  winter   evening   pe-  < 
rusal,  will  find  these  every  way  worthy  their 
attention."  —  Bnstun  Evening  Gazette. 

"In  tltese  days  of  shabby  reprints,  it  is  a 
treat  to  get  hold  of  a  publication  in  the  best 
style  of  type  and  paper,  for  which  Mr.  Hart 
is  famous.  "U'e  ha\e  not.  for  a  long  time, 
Been  t«o  such  beautifully  printed  volumes. 

'•Vi.v*   Kenger.  who  has  undertaken    this 
new  memoir  of  the  hapless  Queen  of  Scots,  is 
known  as  the  cjipab'e  writer  of  '  Memoirs  of 
Anne  lioli-yti.'  and  other  works.     Of  course 
there  cannot  he  a  great  deal  that  is  strictly 
new  said  of  the  life  of  one  who  has  been  so 
much  written  and  talked  of  as  Mary  Stuart; 
but   Miss   LScnger.   while    she    has    obtained 
many   new    particulars,    lias  made   the   he.st 
use  of  the  old  materials,  ai-d  thus  gi\en  us  a  ' 
most  graoi  ful  and  interesting  vi-r.-ion  of  one  \ 
Of   the    mo.-t    touching    histories  on    record.? 
Three  original  letters  of  Mary  to  the  Duke  ; 
of  Argyle  are  published,  and  an  autograph  \ 
copy  of  a  portion  of  a  letter  is  engraved  for  \ 
the  second  \oluine.     To   the  fir.-.t  volume  a  < 
•well-executed  engraved  likeness  is  prefixed." 


This   is   a   handsome   reprint   from   the  < 
second  London    edition.     The    author   is  fa 
vourably  known  from  her  'M  -moirs  of  Anue  j 
Boleyn.'  "  —  Arthur's  Home  Gazette.  \ 


Two  VOLUMES,  POST  8vo,wiTH  PORTKAITS,  CLOTH, 

EXTRA  GILT,  &2.50. 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

HOUSE  OF  OELEANS; 

Including  Sketches  and  Anecdotes  of  the  most 

distinguished  Characters  of  France  during 

the  nth  and  ISth  Centuries. 

BY  DR,  W.  COOKE  TAYLOR, 

Author  of  "Romantic  Biography  of  the 

Affe    of  Elizabeth,"   "Manual   of  An- 

cieiit  and  Modern  History,"  ic. 

"  A  very  pleasant  hook ;  some  of  its  pages 
are  as  full  of  interest  as  a  romance.  Dr. 
Taylor  is  happy  in  many  of  his  portraitures, 
but  in  none  more  than  in  that  of  the  lovely 
but  unfortunate  Henrietta,  Duchess  of  Or 
leans,  and  of  her  daughter,  the  charming  and 
equally  unfortunate  Maria  Louisa,  Queen  of 
Spain.  The  book  cannot  be  read  without  the 
deepest  interest." — Morning  Herald. 

'•We  have  found  this  one  of  the  most 
lively,  spirited,  and  interesting  histories  we 
have  met  with  in  a  long  while." — American 
Courier. 

"Dr.  Taylor's  information  respecting  the 
Orleans  family  is  very  great:  he  knows  every 
authentic  detail  in  that  long  career.  His 
accounts  are  decidedly  amusing;  few  novels 
indeed  afford  so  much.  The  book  is  full  of 
anecdotes,  now  stimulating,  scandalous,  and 
delightful,  and  now  dark,  mysterious,  ro 
mantic,  and  terrible." — Morning  Post. 

THE    GENIUS 

CHARACTER^  BURNS, 

(The  Poet.) 

BY  PROFESSOR  WILSON, 
OF  THE  UNIVERSITY   OF  EDINBURGH, 

A  uthor  of  the  "  LigJtts  and  SfiaJows  of  Scot 
tish  Life,"  '•'•The  Recollections  of  Chris 
topher  JVorlfi,"  <£c.  <£c. 

IN    ONE    VOL.  12MO,  CLOTH   GILT. 

1'HICE  SI. 

"The  lovers  of  Burns — and  where  are  they 
not — will  not  fail  to  value  the  opinion  of 
Christopher  North,  far-seeing,  all-seeiug 
Christopher— of  the  life,  intellect,  and  genius 
of  him  whose  strongest  wish  was 

'  fur  poor  aukl  Scotland's  sake, 
Some  useful  plan  of  book  to  make, 
Or  slug  a  sang  at  least '.' 

<:And  bow  tenderly,  how  earnestly,  how 
gloriously  be  sai.g! 

••  1'r.ofessor  \Vilson  defends  the  poet  from 
much  ungenerous  a:id  unwarranted  re 
proach,  and  gives  the  reader  new  views  of 
his  character.  His  book  is  a  high  and  charm 
ing  tribute  to  the  memory  of  one  whom  the 
world  will  always  delight  to  honour."— 
Wezt'.rn  Litf.rary  Advertiser. 


A.  HART'S  MISCELLANEOUS  WORKS. 


DESCRIPTIVE   GEOGRAPHY 


BRIEF  HISTORICAL  SKETCH  OF  PALESTINE. 

BY    RABBI    JOSEPH    SCHWARZ, 

FOR   SIXTEEN  YEARS  A  RESIDENT   IN   THE  "HOLY   LAND." 

Translated  by  ISAAC   LTiESER, 

One  of  the  Editors  of  the  New  Edition  -3,    'he  "  Hebrew  Bwle." 
ILLUSTRATED  WITH  MAPS  AND   NUMEROUS  ENGRAVINGS, 

In  One  Volume  8vo.    Uniform  with  '-Lynch's  Dead  Sea  Expedition.' 
PRICE    $2.50. 


"The  volume  is  full  of  interest  and  infor 
mation,  is  printed  in  the  most  be;iuti*">ii  style, 
and  is  illustrated  with  numerous  .r.nps  and 
engravings.  A  more  detailed  <ind  compre 
hensive  publication  on  the  lloiy  Land,  as  re 
lates  to  its  more  remote  antiq  r.ties,  has  never 
been  issued  from  the  Ameiican  press/' — In 
quirer  d-  Courier. 

"It  is  the  result  of  vide  and  diligent  re- 
search,  and  that  it  possesses  an  unusually 
large  amount  ->f  ir.ormati^n  concerning  the 
physical  his'.ury  i  tl  '  of'inte- 

•rest  and  so  liu'.ed  w:th  the  most  sacred  a.- 
pociations  an  I  mt-mories.  as  to  be  fitly  called 
the  Holy  '.jand.  The  work  is  beautifully 
printed  c  i  fine  paper,  and  it  is  illustrated  by 
maps  and  engravings  on  stone." — Southern 
Liter  ry  Gazrltf.. 

"This  is  a  very  learned  and  valuable  work, 
deserving  the  consideration  which  it  will  be 
sure  to  obtain  from  savans  and  others  inte- 


->  rested  in  the  study  of  the  Holy  Land  ;  and 

\  the  thanks  of  such  are  due  to  the  erudite 
translator  for  the  labour  and  c;-  •(•  with  which 

j  he  has  prepared  it  for  American  readers." — 
A''>rth  American. 

'•  To  the  theological  student  it  must  espe- 

cia'ly  prove  of  incalculable  value,  and  will 

doubtless  find  its  way  into  every  library  and 

institution  of  learnin-,'."-  wrier, 

">,is  is  a  work  of  vast  erudi:  ,'.u  and  ro- 

'  search,  and  we  commend  ii   to  i.\  •>  biblical 

>  student,  and  to  the  mv)  <>t  let.t  •-•>,  .".!•.!  thq 

::tr,  as  perb)ij!>  •,  and 

>  certainly  t;ie  most  accurate  imd   nnrhentic 

ant  of  ihe  Holy  Land  e\er  vub'i^hed. 

>  Mr.  Leeser,  the  tr:iti slater,  has  executed  hia 
;  task  very  creditably,  and   h  is   taken   great 
;  pains  to  make  an  easy  and  intelligible  ver- 
l  eion  from  the  original  Hebrew  copy,  and  hag 
J  occasionally  enrichi-d  the    text   with    useful 
i  explanatory  notes." — £Tew  Orleans  Eee. 


PICTURESQUE 

SKETCHES  IN  GREECE  AND  TURKEY, 

BY  AUBREY   DE  VERB,  Esq. 
IN  ONE  VOLUME  12™,  335  PAGES,  CLOTH  GILT.     PRICE  $1. 


"Threadbare  ?.<*  the  east  has  become  under 
the  labours  of  hundreds  of  tourists  Mr.  de 
"Vere  has  yet  found  spots  in  it.  th:;t  are  still 
fresh  'with  all  their  virgin  g'oss.'  The  vo 
lume,  in  addition,  is  written  in  a  pleasant 
£tyle,  that  wins  insensibly  on  t1. 
and  leaves  a  high  impression  of  the  author's 
mental  cultivation/' — Saturday  Guz'th  . 

"To  the  classical  reader,  as  well  as  to  those 
in  search  of  geographical  information  in  re 
gard  to  the  countries  described,  this  pleasant 
rolume  will  be  found  full  of  iuterast." — Bos 
ton  Transcript. 


*      "We  find  the  book  exactly  vrha*  its  title 
^imports  it  to  be,   picturesque '  sketches   of 
Greece  and  Turkey,  m:i  !   gen 

tleman   ar.d  judir: 
with  ancient  and  moderi.  .ii^ 

lies  'o-re   ri'al'v    fin' 
;  tlien 

^  in  his  descriptions,  wliic  .  •-  up- 

<  predated   tlian    describe;!  o.t    r«- 

!;  member   to    ha  .  e    read    a 

I  written  in  such  cheerful  r'.'>od  taste,  or  in  so 
?  continuous  a  stream  of  elegance." —  Visiting 
i  Ism  Union. 


